Battlestar Galactica: Season Five, Episode One: If Wishes Were Fishes
by MissiAmphetamine
Summary: What if, when the fleet arrived at Earth, there was no happily ever after? What if the surviving colonists discovered that you can't just wipe the slate clean and start afresh? What if your brave new world is what you make of it...and all you can make is more of the same? (Canon compliant up until arrival on Earth.)
1. Part One - Landfall

Battlestar Galactica: Season Five

Episode One: If Wishes Were Fishes

Landfall

An angry voice cut across the plains, stark contrast to the brilliance of the African sun, the soft breeze that eased the blistering heat. Long yellowed grass waved with the breath of air, and a lone Goshawk circled lazily through the blue above the forests Landfall was backed against.

"It needs to be done! You know that!"

"What I know, Mr Adama, is that in order for us to have any hope of continued survival, we need our machinery. Our ships. Our medical equipment." Romo Lampkin, president of Earth, was relaxed, sitting under the rough pavilion with Jake panting happily at his feet, red tongue lolling out. His tone was dry as he eyed Lee Adama who stood tense and frustrated several feet away, fists bunched up and hair flattened to his forehead, damp and limp with sweat.

There was a long pause.

"Are we really going to do this again, Mr Adama? Lee? You know my position on the matter. And I'm not changing that position." Romo stretched out his legs and Jake shuffled to one side shooting his master an indignant doggy glare. Lee had given him Jake – not just a dog, but also a gift of hope, trite as that might be. And now, here Romo was, at odds with the golden child of the fleet, the onetime Captain Apollo. It was not a pleasant situation to be in.

He liked Lee, really he did, but when Lee had given Romo Lampkin the presidency he had abdicated any right to dictate how the ex-fleet was going to be run. And Romo was nothing if not a pragmatist. There was nothing Lee Adama or anyone else could say that would justify sending the fleet's ships along with all the remaining tech into the godsdamned sun. His people – the phrase sounded bloody ridiculous, but there it was – were not going to suffer and die for Lee Adama's fears of the cycle repeating. Hell, the cycle could be assured to repeat as far as Romo Lampkin bloody cared, which was not a whit. His concern was the humans – and Cylons – still alive at this moment.

"The future of humanity – of humans and Cylons – it depends on this not happening again! Have we really fought this hard, survived this much, just to doom our descendants to the same fate?" Lee was a passionate speaker; that was a fact. Even in his pilot's singlet and dusty uniform trousers and face red and sweaty, he was lit with the fires of righteousness. Pity it was misplaced.

Romo rolled up his shirtsleeves and wiped sweat from his own brow with a damp cotton hanky. This was going nowhere.

"Thank you for your concerns, Mr Adama." There was a tiredly amused twinkle in Romo's eyes as he met Lee's. This was just yet another interlude in the ongoing saga of their conflict since arrival on Earth. Lee glared for a moment, sharp features blunted by frustration and hands still balled up at his sides. He turned and left without a word, disappearing into the glare of the sun.

Romo sighed to himself, reached down and scratched Jake behind his ears.

"Remind me again why I took this bloody job." Jake tilted his head at his master and grinned a doggy grin. Romo nodded thoughtfully, eyes unfocused as he looked out over the makeshift and half-finished buildings that made up the main settlement. All these people, and all the others scattered across the continent and beyond were one cynical lawyer's reluctant responsibility, the charges of a man who to be quite frank, had no liking for humanity as a whole.

"I know, Jake. Very funny. But if you'll look carefully, you'll see I am _not_ laughing."

# # #

"Well, your blood pressure is fine. Minimal swelling. The baby is moving around well. I'd say everything seems fine." Gruff as always, Doc Cottle smiled down at his patient who sat up nervously on the bed, fingers twining in her lap. She would rather not be here, but Helo had insisted they come. He stood hovering beside her now with a worried expression drawing his lips thin and taut, Hera securely balanced on his hip.

"You're sure, Doc?" Helo fretted and Athena rolled her eyes, one arm cradled around enormous swell of her belly as she swung her legs off the bed and stood up with an effort. Doc Cottle grunted.

"I'm as sure as I can be in these godsdamned conditions. I don't have ultrasound, a heartbeat monitor, gestational diabetes tests – I'm a Doctor not a godsdamned miracle worker or seer. I told you; they're both healthy as far as I can tell. Come back in two weeks and I'll check again. Now get. I've got more patients to see, you know." Cottle stuffed a battered cigarette between his lips and jerked his head at the curtains portioning off the bed as he lit it, smoking almost viciously. Athena paused by the curtain-door,

"You can't tell if it's a – "

"Boy or girl in there?" Cottle interrupted,

"No. I can't. Now quit holding me up."

"Thank you." Athena smiled at him and made her way out into the main part of the hospital structure, past the line of people waiting to see the overworked understaffed doctors that worked here. There were a grand three in total, to see to the medical needs of almost twelve thousand humans and Cylons.

Athena had heard a few Sixes were in training to become at least semi-competent in basic medicine, and no doubt some humans were as well.

She wouldn't really know though; she, Helo and Hera lived around three klicks along from of the main settlement in a little cabin in the hills above the edge of the plains, surrounded by forest and with a stream cutting down from the mountains winding past nearby. The water was icy and clear, and Hera built little dams out of smooth river stones.

Outside of the darkened ramshackle ship-panel walls and roof of Landfall's hospital the weather was beautiful. Athena walked close to Helo and their hands brushed, fingers curling together as they made their way through the sprawling settlement. It backed onto the forest that banded the foot of the mountains, small rivers and streams spidering down through the trees and providing fresh water for people and crops.

Landfall was long and narrow, as most people wanted to build in or near the shade and relative cool of the forest, although the necessity of keeping the settlement from spreading out too much meant a good third of the buildings were out in the unshaded scorching heat of the plains – mostly public buildings like the hospital. Houses built from scavenged ship parts made up the bulk of the settlement, laid out with enough space for each dwelling to have its own little garden. Mostly people were practical and tended only edible plants, but there were the occasional bright splashes of colourful flowers, wilting now in the summer heat. Around the settlement itself further out onto the plains were the farms – large swathes of rough ploughed land planted with whatever plant life that had been determined edible.

A lot of people's nutrition depended on hunting at the moment. They had discovered a prolific wild plant that was similar to the wheat they had back on the colonies, and several hardy tuber-producing plants, but everything edible was also in a highly undomesticated state. It would take generations before they had horticulture that even vaguely resembled what they had on the colonies. They trapped four-legged large furred creatures high in the hills, and hunted deer and other herd animals with guns, spears and bows on the expansive plains – Helo and Athena had become very skilled at it now.

Jeanne, one of the women who had been involved in Gaius Baltar's cult watched their daughter while Athena and Helo hunted. She and a number of those who sympathised with Lee lived close together in the hills, a community that eschewed the technology they had brought with them that still orbited the planet.

Athena knew it was ironic to be a machine that turned your back on technology, but all the Twos had done so – every single one.

Of course, Athena couldn't go hunting anymore. At (they guessed) around seven months her belly was too big, she moved too slowly, and she didn't want to put her baby at risk. Her back ached and Athena sighed and rolled her head on her shoulders, squeezing Helo's hand to reassure him. He had been a wreck ever since they had found out she was pregnant again. It was to assuage his doubts that she had come in to see Doc Cottle. Her own midwife was Ishay – another who agreed that they needed to start fresh on Earth without technology, lest they risk repeating the cycle of man verus machine.

Usually the only time Athena came into Landfall was to trade meat and skins for vegetables and other supplies. She had adjusted surprisingly easily to the hard life they lived out in the hills, surviving by the skin of their teeth. It reminded her of when she and Helo had been back on Caprica, on the run together, falling in love, getting pregnant with Hera…

Her daughter sensed her mother's eyes on her and held out her arms, leaning toward her in Helo's grasp.

"Come to mummy." Athena reached out for her little girl. Helo shot her a concerned look.

"Are you sure she'd not too heavy?"

"I'll be fine, Helo." She rolled her eyes. She had more than proved her toughness en route to this final destination, and yet her husband still worried about whether she could carry her daughter home.

Hera was a warm lithe bundle in her arms and her curly head rested on Athena's shoulder, bare arms and legs sticky with sweat.

"If she gets too heavy –"

"I'll give her back to you." Athena finished and kissed her daughter's curls, smiling up at Helo as they headed for the cool shelter of the forest.

# # #

"Frakking savages, that's what they godsdamned are." Colonel Tigh – not a Colonel any longer really, but hell he would always think of himself that way – lowered the binoculars and wriggled back below the ridgeline, glaring one-eyed at Starbuck. She snorted, shrugged a shoulder in that insolent manner that still made him want to land one right on her smarmy face.

"They're proto-humans. I don't know what you're expecting, Colonel. Poetry readings?"

"Ha. Well not eating their enemies would be a start." Saul Tigh had seen a lot of horror over his lifetime (lifetimes?), but what was going on a klick away made his gorge rise. Starbuck looked through the binocs again, peering at the grisly scene and grimaced, nodded, falling back beside him and lying on her back, silent.

He waited.

"Can't we take them out? This isn't right. Just _watching_ them."

"President says no. Council agrees. There's too few of the bastards to start killing 'em off if we want them to survive." Tigh replied roughly, wishing they could just take them out. Wasn't right.

"Frak the Council _and_ Romo Frakking Lampkin. Those are our people out there." The maverick young woman actually made for the ridgeline, scrambling to her feet and Tigh pulled her back down roughly.

"For once – my gods – I actually agree with you, Starbuck. But those aren't our orders. Those poor souls out there are dead and gone anyway, they don't care if they're mister godsdamned Savage's dinner to boot." Tigh felt a pang of sympathy as Starbuck screwed up her face with frustration, slamming her fist onto the hard ground,

"Frak it!"

"Come on. We better get back to Landfall." Tigh rolled to his feet with a grunt and started for the settlement, not waiting for Starbuck to get her lazy ass up and moving. She caught up with him after a moment anyway, loping easily along next to him, features still crumpled and angry, wasting her breath on muttered curses.

Landfall was only five klicks away – the savages were moving in closer, getting braver. Like godsdamned animals becoming accustomed to human presences and losing their fear. This was the fourth time a farm had been attacked, and people were getting scared. Good reason, too. Ordinary colonists had no chance against even a small band of those fierce proto-human hunters. A spear through the chest, and if they were lucky they died before they got eaten.

This was not good. The violence was escalating steadily, and they couldn't afford to lose any more colonists – in purely practical terms they needed every man and woman for both reproduction and the farming they did.

The president, Mister Romo Lampkin, had tried to make peaceful contact when they had first arrived on Earth, but the savages had wanted none of it and an altercation had resulted in two wounded on their side, and five dead proto-humans. Something had to be done, but how did you try and explain yourself to a people so unevolved they didn't even have language? That was a tough one. But the situation was escalating fast, and there was no solution in sight. If it was true that they needed the proto-humans in order to widen the gene pool enough to survive well into the future, well, in Tigh's opinion, they were all frakked.

# # #

"You're back. I was getting worried." Lee looked up from the smiling widely at Starbuck and vacillated over whether to kiss her or not. He could never tell with her what would be accepted without reserve and what would be rejected. One day she might be open and connected with Lee, and the next she would be cold and distant and preoccupied with things she never spoke to him about. But at least she was with him.

Her form was silhouetted in the doorframe and Lee couldn't see her face. Outside, behind her, the sun was sinking in the sky, and the air was swiftly turning chill. Starbuck unclipped her gun belt and strung it on a wooden peg by the cabin door – everything in their house was made from materials found on the planet, Lee refused to make use of any technology, not even old ship parts like most of those in Landfall. It would be hypocritical. It was bad enough that he was living with someone who still worked for the Council and the President. Many of those who agreed with him were…disapproving of his relationship with Kara Thrace.

"I stopped at Joe's Bar for a drink. Needed to relax. There was another attack by the natives. Three colonists killed. We got word from a family on a nearby farm who heard the screams. Now they won't go back to work their farm without a military escort, and we don't have anyone spare." Starbuck latched the door shut and moved to Lee, hair in damp straggles and skin pink, no doubt from washing in a stream, her clothes still dusty and smelling of musky sweat. She was glowingly beautiful. Lee kissed her cheek and she smiled at him, ran her thumb over his lips and he felt his heart leap in his chest.

"Three dead. I went out with Tigh and when we got there they were eating them. Godsdamned eating them, Lee! And the president wants us to inter-breed?" She flapped her arms by her sides, sighed harshly and turned away, staring into the small fire their stew pot hung above.

"It's madness."

"I may disagree with Romo about a lot of things, but he's right about that, Kara. We need them. Besides, what would you have us do? Wipe them out?"

"Yes!"

"Commit genocide, Kara? Really?" Lee turned Starbuck to face him and she bit her lip, shook her head, defeated, her face shadowed and lit by the flickers of the fire.

"No. I guess not. Gods. Nothing's changed, has it, Lee?" She let him hold her, resting her chin on his shoulder, her body warm and solid against his, wirier even than it used to be. Their diet didn't allow for more than the bare minimum nutrients. At least it wasn't algae. He carded his fingers through her hair and sighed, mind half elsewhere.

"I thought it would be different here." Her voice was plaintive, and Lee knew he held the more vulnerable Kara in his arms. Tonight she was the Kara who accepted his comfort and company without hesitation or distance, who talked to him like she used to, before Anders and New Caprica and Dualla. Lee felt guilty for actually liking it when she was like this – he shouldn't like her being unhappy, but it was the only time he felt she really needed him, wanted him there with her.

"We all did." Lee couldn't say anything to comfort her – there was nothing to say. So he kissed her, lips meeting firmly, her mouth tasting like tobacco and moonshine.

Starbuck's arms wound around him and her tongue flicked against his lips, the kiss deepening, fierce and greedy. Lee forgot all about Romo Lampkin, about his lost father, about the stew of foul-tasting roots and mere handful of meat that bubbled gently in the pot. Kara Thrace eclipsed it all, demanding every fibre in his being focus on her. The feel of her body in his arms, her hot mouth on his, her fingers fumbling with his belt. They stumbled across the room shedding clothes as they went, falling in a naked tangle of limbs onto the furs that were their bed, Starbuck straddling his hips. She tossed her head and her long damp hair fell down her back as she grinned at Lee with that grin that was Starbuck; brazen and almost defiant. As if she was daring him to… Lee grabbed her waist and flipped her over onto her back, and now it was his turn to smile down at her, triumphant. Then her legs wrapped around his hips, and Lee thrust into her and his smile dissolved into a moan, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. Starbuck arched beneath him, soaking in the pleasure like a satisfied cat, her eyes slipping half shut as her breath quickened and she gasped. His name.

"Lee. Oh gods. Lee." And for a brief moment Lee was happy with everything exactly the way it was.

# # #

"I finished the floor today. No more packed dirt under my feet, but actual wooden boards. I can't stain it or finish it, but I've polished it smooth as glass, and it looks rather nice. Like honey. I think you'd like it, Laura." A pause, the sun glinting just above the horizon and washing the sky in fire and pink.

"I dug up some of the plants I put in the garden a few months back. They'd died off, so I thought they'd come to nothing, but underneath each were a good dozen of those tubers. They were quite tasty, actually, roasted up. I knew they were edible, I told you, didn't I." Another long silence as though listening, hooded eyes squinting into the glare of the setting sun. A bunch of flowers were clasped in a wrinkled hand, the flower heads drooping a little.

"Yes. Sometimes I do wonder how they're doing. Lee. Kara. Saul. The little girl. Even that godsdamned Baltar. Are they alive? Are they thriving? Is this promised land everything they wished for? But no, I don't want to go back, Laura. This is my retirement, at last, well overdue. Here with you." Silence as the sun slipped below the mountains in the distance, sky slowly darkening. The stars were shining bright in the black before the old man pushed himself up and laid the wilting posy gently on Laura Roslyn's cairn.

"Good night, Laura."


	2. Part Two - Kernels

Author's Note:

Insert standard disclaimer here. BSG does not belong to me…I make no profit from this…blah blah blah.

And the plot thickens…

# # #

"Hi. It's been a while since I last came by. I'm sorry. I've been busy with patrols – the local tribe of proto-humans have been raiding farms and attacking or killing the colonists. Yesterday Tigh and I came across a group of them butchering three people. Did I tell you they eat the dead? Not those of their own tribe, but enemy tribes they eat just like they're animals. And I guess they consider us enemies, despite the President's attempts to make friendly contact." Starbuck settled into the chair next to the hybrid tank, reaching down and stroking a hand over Ander's pale forehead. He stared straight up at the ceiling, eyes scanning back and forth rapidly.

"Too much confusion. Alone. This has all happened before and it will happen again. The dying leader. Dead. Deceased. End of line."

Starbuck's eyes welled with tears and she clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the sobs, doubling over in the rickety chair. It never got any easier.

"Sam. Oh gods. Sam." She breathed deep and collected herself, wiping tears away with the backs of her hands, browned by the sun.

"Um. What else. Well, Joe's made a new batch of liquor using some of the native plants. I had some last night – much better than the swill we had on Galactica. Gets you frakked pretty damn quick." Starbuck leant back in the chair, racking her brain for more information to break the silence. She never mentioned Lee and what was happening with him, unless it was in relation to the conflict over technology that gripped the colonists. It seemed wrong to mention her relationship somehow, in case Anders really did understand what she was saying. Doc Cottle had told her bluntly he had no idea if Anders was conscious or an oversized vegetable, but the Sixes and Eights and Ellen Tigh insisted that he retained some awareness of his surroundings. Starbuck didn't know whom she wanted to believe.

"Oh, um, Redwing has hooked up with an Eight, Alice, she calls herself, and it's funny how she's so different to Athena. Her hair is short, she has a scar down the side of her face, and she seems much younger. You could never mix them up, even if Athena weren't pregnant." Starbuck bit her lip, grinned.

"Huh. Funny, I never thought Redwing of all people would shack up with a Cylon."

She was quiet for a while; her hand dipped into the goo Anders spent his days and nights in, her fingers curled around his. He felt so thin, just skin and bone, his digits long and knobbly in her hand. Starbuck hadn't told Lee she visited Anders regularly, but she thought he must know. Someone would have told him – even with the divide between the colonists gossip travelled fast. But he'd never mentioned it to her. She put Lee out of her mind. The least she could do was not think of the man she was frakking while she was with the man who had been and still was her husband.

The small room in the back of Landfall's Hospital where Sam was hooked up was windowless and the air seemed stale, the heat from outside soaking through the metal walls and Starbuck felt like she couldn't get a proper breath. She couldn't think of anything else to say, her mind a blank. She fiddled with her ring and dog tag, still looped on a chain around her neck. She never took them off, not even when she and Lee slept together. She might love Lee, but she loved Sam too – and he was still her husband. And he would be, until one of the other of them died.

"What…" Starbuck paused, a pained expression on her face, looking away from her husband for a moment, forehead furrowing.

"What am I, Sam? What am I?" It was a desperate whisper as she looked back down on him, sliding onto her knees by the tank, one hand still clasped around his. His eyes traced the ceiling blankly and his fingers twitched in hers, lips moving with silent words. Starbuck held in a groan, lips mashed together so they went white, her free hand scraping through her hair.

"Please, Sam? I need –"

"A baker's dozen. Systems normal. Kara Thrace. The harbinger of death. Six plus eight is fourteen, two and one is three, Kara and… A baker's dozen, a dozen baker's." He babbled quietly and coldly and Starbuck felt tears sting in her eyes, squeezing Sam's hand.

"Please, Sam. I don't understand." His eyes swivelled and rolled to rest on her, as though he were looking straight through her and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, a shiver thrilling through her.

"But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate. End of line." And then his eyes returned to their position fixed on the metal ceiling and his hand went limp in hers. Starbuck sighed and shook herself, taking deep breaths of the muggy air, waving away a buzzing fly.

"That song. What is it with you and that godsdamned song, Sam? What is it supposed to mean?" Starbuck got back to her feet and pulled her hand out off the white goo, staring at it with a curl of her lip and trying to scrape it off on the edge of the tank. Unfussy she wiped the remnants on her pants leg and gulped. She felt bad when she left. Left him lying here, alone. And she visited little enough, a couple of times a week these days. It used to be every day. Oh sure, the Sixes and Eights tended him like he was their baby, but it wasn't the same. They were drifting apart. But Starbuck had made her choices.

"Bye Sam." She half-raised her hand in a little wave and hurried out of the room, hair falling over her face.

"Thanks." She told the Eight who had waited outside the door while Starbuck had sat with Anders. She didn't like it when they watched on – some things were meant to be private, like moments between a husband and wife. Mostly, though, Starbuck didn't want them knowing that she still had no idea what the hell she was. That half the reason she came to visit, even though she wouldn't admit it to herself, was to try and pry information out of Sam.

When they had first arrived on Earth, so long ago now it seemed, she had told Lee she knew what she was. Had refused to tell him, saying just that it all had been her destiny, with a large hint that she might be an angel. Ha, like that was frakking likely. Starbuck wasn't sure if Lee had believed her, but people had overheard and the word had spread, and she wasn't avoided or eyed suspiciously any longer. Although Baltar's cultists who still believed in the one true god treated her with awe whenever they saw her. That was a drawback. But it was better than when everyone stared at her wherever she went, keeping their distance and watching her with their damned crawly eyes and suspicions. Truth be told, though, Starbuck still had no frakking idea what she was. And if Sam knew, he either wasn't telling her or she was just too dumb to untangle his godsdamned riddles.

She came out of the hospital and into the bright midday light, and was treated to a view of Lee – with Paulla – arguing in Romo Lampkin's pavilion further out a little on the plain, set apart from the other buildings for privacy's sake. The cloth that made up the tent's walls was rolled up on three sides, and she could see from Lee's stance he was in the middle of a passionate argument, but due to the distance only caught a murmur of unintelligible noise on the wind.

Damnit. Again?

She was sick to death of this frakking rift slicing right through the community, and she highly disliked being caught in the middle, as it were. Loyalties on both sides. Lee's bed partner, and Romo's right hand man, behind Tigh of course. Starbuck stuck a cigar in her mouth and moved it around into its usual spot, lighting up with a sigh of pleasure as the smoke wisped into her lungs and out her mouth and nose.

# # #

"You need to listen to him! He's right! You need to listen!" Paulla…he couldn't remember her last name, shoved her arm out and pointed back at Lee Adama, her expression vicious, insistent. Romo Lampkin let Paulla run herself out, his expression never changing. When her tirade was finally finished Romo just sucked on his cheek, chewed on his lip, cocked his finger mildly up at her and asked,

"Weren't you one of Baltar's harem? I seem to recall you defending him just as fervently whenever he got himself in hot water." Romo grinned lazily, smug,

"Whatever happened to that? Do you switch your allegiances so easily, Paulla?"

She scowled and stepped back beside Lee Adama, arms crossing defensively over her chest and chin thrust up in the air.

"He left the cause, as you know. I don't follow anything as small and petty as men, Mr President. I believe in the cause."

"Small and petty?" Lee asked quietly to himself, face scrunching with bewildered indignation and Romo chuckled to himself.

"An' what would that cause be, Paulla? First it was the one true god, now it's that all technology – the very technology that kept you alive for the past four years – is evil and must be destroyed? I'm a little confused here. Can you help me out?" His gaze was fixed on her. He knew her type; scheming and obsessive, like a minor league Gaius Baltar. He knew her type, and he knew what buttons to push to get a reaction.

"Small and petty?" Lee echoed again rather pathetically, eyes lifting to Paulla who was glaring at Romo as though she would like to throttle him. And she probably did at that.

"The one true god," She enunciated each word very carefully,

"Is the one who wants us to get rid of our technology, because it is what brought us to this."

"And you know this how?"

"God..." She paused and Romo could see the little wheels whirring around in her head, trying to formulate a believable response.

"God speaks to and through the people who believe in him whole-heartedly." She came up with and Romo nodded very earnestly, leaning forward in his chair and opening his eyes very wide.

"So, did this god speak to you, or through someone else on this issue?" He asked quietly, malicious humour in his tone and Paulla clenched her jaw.

"To me. And through others. Both."

"I see." Romo nodded and turned his attention to Lee, lips still mouthing 'small and petty' silently.

"Mr Adama."

"What? Oh, yes, Mr President?"

"I'm sorry, did you miss your…assistant…explaining the basis behind your decision to eliminate technology?" Lee looked stunned and a little worried; shooting angry glances at Paulla. She dropped her eyes, mouth pursed defiantly.

"I did, actually." Lee said slowly.

"It was most enlightening. She was telling me that the reason behind sending our ships and all our tech into the sun would be because God told her to…" Romo trailed off and let that information sink in. Lee Adama was many things, but religious he was not. And true to form he was immediately angry, backtracking.

"Well she would be wrong. That is absolutely not why we want to leave behind our technology. I've told you before, Romo – Mr President – that it is to avoid this cycle repeating."

"But we don't know that it will, do we?"

"I'm sorry?"

"If all this," Romo waved around aimlessly,

"Has happened before, etcetera, then how do we know it wasn't getting rid of technology that ensured it happened again? How do we know that destroying it is the right thing to do?" It was pointless to engage with Lee – it had never worked before, but Romo had little else to do with his time this afternoon but take care of a delightful backlog of administrative tasks. This was marginally more entertaining.

"We…we just…do." Lee was fumbling and Romo felt almost bad for him. He was a fine young man, but still too prone to idealism.

"Mr President, sir. Hows it going?" A breath of fresh air sauntered into the tent in a cloud of dust and tobacco smoke. Romo smiled to himself. He liked this one.

"Starbuck. Come in, please." The ex-pilot smirked around her cigar and nodded in greeting.

"Hi Lee. Fancy seeing you here." It was a subtle dig, and Romo wondered how things were on the home front. It couldn't be easy for Lee, knowing that he came second in behind the comatose Cylon. He and Starbuck both deserved better than that. Sad state of affairs. Lee looked even more on the back foot, face paling under his tan.

"Kara." Lee gave her a weak smile and moved to kiss her cheek. She stepped back a little, her smirk somehow apologetic, and Romo noticed Paulla look pleased. What was the woman planning? To take Starbuck's place at Lee's side?

Jake nudged his head into Romo's hand and the President scratched behind his dog's ears.

"Starbuck. You agree don't you?" Lee asked her and she raised her eyebrows, shaking her head vehemently.

"Uh uh. I don't have a dog in this fight. You know that. Technology, no technology – I don't really care. What I care about is surviving." She paused and blew a smoke ring, head cocked a little to the side. Romo noticed her eyes were slightly red, like she'd been crying. He wondered if she'd been visiting Anders. He wondered if Lee Adama knew she visited Anders. Hmm, mysteries, he liked those.

"And we won't survive if we aren't united." Starbuck finished and Lee flinched a little, taking a step back from her. Paulla sneered and began,

"Lee, I told you –"

"Not now." He cut her off with a swipe of his hand and turned to Romo.

"People are starting to think that you aren't going to listen."

Romo interjected calmly, a touch of humour in his voice,

"I'm here. I'm listening. I've been listening for seven months, Mr Adama. I just don't agree with you."

"Yeah, well, people are getting restive. They have been for a while now. This is something that is very important to them. A matter of faith even, for some. If you don't begin to at least appear to take our concerns seriously…" Lee frowned and shook his head, pleading with Romo.

"I would never advocate violence, but I'm afraid some of them may come to that on their own. And if they do…there's nothing I can do to stop them."

"Is that a threat, Mr Adama?" Romo relaxed back into his chair even though his muscles were suddenly tense. He did not like death threats. He liked living; he did not want to be murdered by some anti-technology maniacs.

"No, no sir. Just a…"

"Warning." Paulla's eyes gleamed with the light of fanaticism and Starbuck's lip curled with disgust.

"Oh frak off, Paulla." And sotto voce,

"Stupid bitch." Romo suppressed a smile.

"I think we're done here. I'll take your…warning…under advisement, Mr Adama. And I have a word for you, too, to take back to those who sympathise with your views." Romo sat forward, a thread of hard menace running under his casually friendly tone,

"Any violence will be met with severe penalties. It is not in your people's best interests to attempt some sort of coup." His eyes flicked to Paulla. The woman made him nervous.

"Or assassination." He ended, and focused on Jake, the animal's snout snuffling wetly into his hand. Another godsdamned argument was over, to begin again in a day or two. When would Lee and his supporters get it through their heads that Romo was not going to changer his mind on the matter?

They sensed their dismissal and shuffled out of the breezy pavilion, and Romo heard Lee murmur,

"I'll see you at home." To Starbuck, to which she did not reply verbally, not that Romo heard anyway.

When he looked back up from Jake, Starbuck was sitting down on the edge of the desk that rested at one side of the tent, perfectly at ease, her booted feet braced on his desk chair. Romo stretched his arms over his head, and looked over at her.

"Saul Tigh gave me the full report on what happened yesterday."

"Mm. The natives." Starbuck gnawed at the end of her cigar, took it out of her mouth and examined it contemplatively. It appeared to be one of those made with an earth equivalent to the tobacco they'd had on the colonies. Not a bad taste, on the whole, and with a nice euphoric kick.

"It seems that problems are like rabbits. They multiply quickly." Romo observed and then watched Starbuck silently, waiting for her to talk. It was a good method – say nothing and eventually the other person will speak to break the silence. It took a little longer with Starbuck than with most people.

"Do really you think there is a chance Lee's group will turn to violence?" She spoke reluctantly, and Romo reminded himself how awkward it must be for Starbuck, trapped between the two factions as she was. A person with a foot on each boat couldn't stay that way forever. As the current pulled the two boats apart, one had to pick one or the other, or take a sudden swim.

"Lee's group… And where do you fit in, Starbuck?" She shrugged and snorted, flippant.

"I don't." It was a telling answer and her eyes lowered, wiry shoulders shrugged again.

"Like I said to Lee, I don't really care. That sort of…big thinking…isn't my deal."

"You concentrate on the here and now?"

"I guess." She was taciturn, uncomfortable under Romo's stare.

"Did you ever think about the fact that if Lee's side wins, Anders would be unplugged?" The possibility clearly shocked her, cigar drooping in her lips as her jaw went slack, round eyes far away. Romo Lampkin waited.

"No. I – I didn't." Starbuck wondered aloud and then blinked and her eyes refocused, clearly annoyed at being manipulated.

"But I'm not sure what that has to do with anything, Mr President."

Romo capitulated with a loose shrug, spreading his hands out palms up.

"Just an idle thought, Starbuck."

"Yeah. Well." She fell quiet, elbows resting on her knees, head down and hair curtaining around her face.

"I apologise." Romo said smoothly, happy to drop the subject. He'd done what he'd wanted to do – plant a seed. Make her really think about things. About the weight people's choices had. Despite his outward appearance, Romo knew that Lee and those that sympathised with him weren't going anywhere – wouldn't change their minds. And if it came to bloodshed, he wanted to know he could count on Starbuck. Or at least, in the unlikely circumstance she took Lee's side, at least be aware that he no longer had her as an asset.

"So. Do I think I'm in imminent danger from the anti-technology faction?" He said briskly,

"Perhaps. I can't spend my days worrying about it though. We have bigger problems. Like the natives, for one."

Starbuck looked up and nodded, face clearing and features smoothing out as Romo continued onto safer ground.

"There's going to be a council meeting this afternoon at 1600. I'd like you to be there, Starbuck."

"Sir?"

"Just discussing what to do about the natives, how to stretch our personnel to offer the farms protection, that sort of thing."

"What about patrol?"

"Ah, yes. Take the afternoon off. I've got Narcho covering for you. Go to Joe's. Have a drink." A grin spread across Starbuck's face and she stood and saluted playfully, cigar sticking out the corner of her mouth,

"Yes sir!"

# # #

Author's Notes:

Every episode will follow a six-part format. I've tried to write the story as much in TV format as possible…if that makes sense. The pace will be picking up in the next chapter.

I very much hope I have written the characters as accurately and true to the show as possible so far, allowing for the fact that they have been on Earth for some months now, and have undergone some minor changes in perspective etc.

Reviews are a writer's ambrosia – please give me feedback!


	3. Part Three - In the Air

BSG does not belong to me etcetera etcetera. Although I wish I owned Gaius. He's so amoral and dreamy *sigh*

**Author's Note: **Updates should be every two days up until the end of this episode (all Eps will be 6 parts long). From then I'll try to update twice a week, depending on RL demands. This is going to be a looong bout of writing for me… A 24 episode season, each Ep consisting of 6 chapters of ~4000wds means around half a million words once I've finished the season.

Gah.

Please excuse typos and formatting frak-ups – I'm on my mobile, which makes posting a bit of a mission. (Hah. Chapter reloaded due to the aforementioned issues)

Enjoy :D

# # #

In the Air

"I'll have another, Joe." Starbuck slid her glass across the rough wooden plank bar and caught the bartender's eye with a flick of her fingers. He refilled the glass, a little slopping over the rim as he poured, his eyes elsewhere. Starbuck turned and craned her neck to see where he was looking. Louis Hoshi, sitting in the corner of the room alone, uniform jacket unbuttoned, head lolling down as he stared into his half-empty glass. Huh. She hadn't seen him around in a while.

"Thanks." She drawled absentmindedly as she took a sip of the moonshine. She gasped and hissed, shook her head as it burnt its way down her throat. Frak it was a strong brew, whatever Joe was making it from. You could strip paint with it. Not that Starbuck gave a frak. Drink was about getting utterly frakked up beyond belief, not about appreciating the fine woody undertones or any of that crap. As long as she could stand and talk without slurring she'd be fine for the meeting Romo wanted her at. Gods knew why. But then, he'd been bringing her into more things lately, depending on her more. She was even becoming friendly with the eccentric man.

She stared into her cup, maudlin, like Hoshi over in his corner. Lee was going to be mad at her. Her mouth twisted, fingers rapped on the bar idly. He hated it when she didn't' back him up. Even after all this time he was so used to being Major Adama, and having Starbuck under him. Well, she might still be under him, but not like that anymore. She snorted to herself and gulped down some more drink, eyes watering. By now she knew the routine. She'd go back to the cabin at nightfall and Lee'd be earnest and disapproving, try and give her a frakking lecture on the importance of his pet cause.

She didn't know who was right and who was wrong, what would break the cycle. Personally she thought the simple fact that they were living together and not killing each other meant the cycle was broken – as long as they never forgot. And if they destroyed their ships and returned to the land, lived like the natives did, like Lee wanted to, would they remember? In Starbuck's opinion it needed to be written down in big bold letters, everywhere. Maybe carved into a gigantic rock somewhere – "Do not build Robots. They will frakking kill you." But what did she know. She was just an ex-pilot who didn't even know if she was human.

Her skin crawled and she hunched over her drink. Starbuck had never thought about Anders being unplugged and put down if Lee's faction won out. She didn't want that. She wouldn't be able to stand it, watching Anders die, for real this time. Done and buried. Godsdamnit, Romo frakking Lampkin was a sneaky bastard. She hated the insidious idea he'd planted in her head but she couldn't uproot it, because he was right. Starbuck wanted to be on Lee's side. Wanted to back him up, support him; stand by his side instead of that Paulla bitch. She wanted to love him, like she had that night on New Caprica, with no doubts, no hesitation. But then look at what she'd done the next day - run straight off and married Anders. And she was glad she had – Anders had been…everything for a while. And he was still something. But Lee…he deserved more than this, more than her. Starbuck felt torn, and so she did the only thing she could; put it out of her mind and focused on her drinking.

The heat in the bar was sweltering and she scraped her hair back into a ponytail, fanning her neck with a hand. At this time of day most folks were out working the farmland or hunting, and the bar was sparsely populated. A few skinjobs – not that she should call them that anymore – a couple of haggard and dusty civilians, and Hoshi.

"Not on patrol today, Starbuck?"

"No. Got the afternoon off."

"Thought you'd pass your time drinking all my booze, then?"

"Guess so." It was nothing against Joe; Starbuck just wasn't in the mood to talk. She rarely was these days. Joe took the hint and wandered off down the other end of the bar, chatting idly to a civilian. Huh, they were all civilians now. With Admiral Adama gone to gods knew where the military/civilian divide had disappeared. It was still the pilots and the marines who did most of the patrols, but under Romo Lampkin and the Council's command. They were frakking _police_ now. It was depressing.

Starbuck drained the glass of the potent alcohol in one long draught and slammed the glass down on the bar. When Joe came over to refill she beckoned with her fingers,

"Just give me the bottle, Joe. Be easier." He gave her a look but slid a bottle over to her, a warning implicit in his eyes. Joe didn't want any trouble. Well, Starbuck wouldn't give him any. She wasn't looking for a fight; she just wanted to relax. Have a little time before the grind started again. She got to her feet and gathered the glass and bottle into her fingers, meandering over to Hoshi.

"Lieutenant Hoshi. It's been a while." Starbuck straddled a chair at his table and plunked down the booze, filling up her glass and holding it out to Hoshi. He looked up at her, eyes hollow and rimmed red and drained his cup, nodding for a refill. She slopped the amber liquid in and raised her cup.

"Cheers."

"Huh." He grunted, gulped down half the glassful, swaying in his chair.

"It's not Lieutenant anymore."

"You're wearing the uniform." She pointed out, waving her glass at his jacket, which up close she could see was stained with liquor spills and dirt.  
"It's all I've got to wear. Besides, what's it to you?"

"Gods, Hoshi, what's your deal?" Starbuck leant back, spreading her arms out in a placating gesture,

"I just came over for a friendly drink. Reconnect with the old shipmate. Buddy, buddy." Her tone was mocking despite herself, his bitterness infecting her, worsening her already unsettled mood.

"We were never 'buddies', Starbuck." Hoshi finished off his glass and whipped the bottle off the table, pouring out another unsteady measure. Starbuck whistled softly and raised her eyebrows.

"Hitting the booze pretty hard, aren't ya, Hoshi?"

"I could say the same for you." He scowled at her, face red with sunburn and alcohol, hair longer and ragged. Starbuck wondered what in the hell was wrong with him. She would've thought that being down on the planet, starting a new life, would appeal to Hoshi as it did to most people. Oh sure it was a difficult business, survival, but most of the colonists, including the Cylons, preferred a hard life planet-side than a hard one on the ships.

"I can handle my alcohol. Seems like you can't." It was an observation, not a dig, but it only deepened his scowl.

"What's your problem, Hoshi? I come over here and you don't tell me to frak off, you drink my booze, but your attitude…" Starbuck shrugged, sipped her drink and looked into Hoshi's eyes.

"What's your deal?"

He was silent for a very long moment, fingers playing with his glass. Then he finally said,

"Felix." His eyes were lifted to Starbuck's pleadingly.

"Why'd he do it?" A frakking ocean of pain was contained in those four words and Starbuck hissed, out of her depth.

She knew that Hoshi and Gaeta had been involved, but she didn't realise they had been that serious. The memory of the mutiny turned Starbuck's blood to ice in her veins. She remembered Anders' in her arms, his ashen skin, and the slackness of his muscles, the blood. Feeling like a monster because he was going to _die_ and she hadn't told how much she still loved him, and thinking she would never get the chance. She felt sick suddenly, back in the present in the humid bar, desperately forcing back tears and anger.

"Huh? Why'd he _frakking _do it?" Hoshi demanded of her, slamming his glass down on the table, liquid sloshing over the top and down over his knuckles. Starbuck clenched her jaw and bit back a flippantly nasty response. Hoshi made a funny hitching noise and with a shock Starbuck realised the man was crying.

"Why'd they have to kill him? He didn't mean it…. He was only trying to make things…better. Do the right thing." He glared at Starbuck furiously,

"He was doing what he thought was right!"

"I'm not the one you want to be talking to about this, Hoshi." Starbuck's mouth folded up and she forced her emotions down, fingers twisted in the material of her pants and gripping hard.

Hoshi swore and pushed himself to his feet in a sudden rush, sweeping his glass off the table to shatter on the packed dirt floor. He leaned across the table, thin arms tensed and face contorting and traced with tears.

"Well who _do _I talk to then, Starbuck? Who's going to listen to a man weep over his traitorous executed lover, huh? Who's going to give a frak about Felix being dead? They shot him! They frakking killed him! They don't give a frak."

Starbuck scrambled to her feet, the bottle of booze safely in one hand, stepping back from Hoshi.

"Yeah they did. They did. And I can't be sorry for that, Louis. He's the reason my husband is a godsdamned vegetable over in that hospital! He was responsible for the deaths of far too many godsdamned people. So no, I can't be frakking sorry. I can't sympathise with you over that." She was on a roll, eyes flashing,

"I'm glad Gaeta is dead, alright? I'm sorry, so frakking sorry, that he turned out to be a treasonous son of a bitch, but if I could've I would've shot the bastard myself!"

Hoshi lunged across the table at Starbuck, fingers closing over her singlet and dragging her close while the other hand aimed a wild punch. Her head snapped back and she almost dropped – gods don't do that – the bottle of booze as Hoshi's fist connected with her ear.

"Ow! My ear! Frakking hell, you _frakker_!" It hurt like shit and Starbuck bent over and hissed, a long string of curses spilling from her lips. Hoshi had staggered back, looking comically surprised by what he had done when Starbuck reared up, flipped the table out of the way and popped him one in the mouth, and again – in the nose, and when he fell down on his ass and clutched his hand to his face she scrambled on top of him, bottle still in one hand, the other striking blindly at Hoshi's face.

"Starbuck! Get the frak off him!" She heard Joe yelling and felt hands pulling at her, but she was lost in the rage. In the zone where it was all red and nothing mattered, and all the confusion and the pain and the godsdamned riddles disappeared. Cathartic. Blissful.

She was dragged off him and thrown unceremoniously backward, landing on her ass in the dirt with just enough presence of mind to keep hold of her precious bottle of booze. She was panting, ragged breaths, and her ear hurt like frak.

"What the frak, Starbuck?" Joe was down in her face, yelling, and she shoved him back and staggered to her feet, swaying, taking a swig from the bottle before anything else. Joe was bent over Hoshi who moaned on the ground, hands flapping helplessly in front of his face. Well shit. His face was a bloodied mess – she'd really done a number on him.

The mindless rage evaporated and Starbuck felt bad. Really frakking guilty. Godsdamnit. She shoved Joe out of the way not unkindly and stuck her hand down to Hoshi. He squinted up at her and hesitated before he grasped it. Starbuck hauled him to his feet, swallowed hard.

"Sorry." She muttered and offered the bottle. Hoshi choked and coughed for a minute and then took it from her wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He took a long gulp and gasped as it went down. Then he smacked her again, square on the nose and Starbuck winced, hand clamping over it. Frak. That had not been unexpected, though. Joe stepped in as though to restrain her and she waved him off, looking at Hoshi. She didn't think it was broken.

"Fair enough." She told Hoshi seriously and he met her eyes without a word. Somehow Starbuck felt a little lighter, but then she always did after a good brawl. It had been a long time since she'd had a chance to take out all that anger on something or someone. Not entirely fair on Hoshi, though. Although, perhaps he felt the same way as her, and the brief fight had helped him get out his anger as well. She grinned at Hoshi suddenly and although he didn't smile back, he didn't look at her like he hated her anymore. Hard to tell with his face like that, though. She snatched the booze back and wiped the top, drank.

"Everything alright here?" Joe was still hovering beside the pair of bloodied fighters and they both nodded at him. He spared a particular glare for Starbuck.

"I told you I didn't want any trouble." Starbuck shrugged as if to say, what can you do? And clapped her hand on Hoshi's shoulder.

"Best go see Doc Cottle, Lieutenant. Come on, I'll help you over there."

"I told you, I'm not a frakking Lieutenant anymore." He grumbled belligerently, but let Starbuck lead him away.

# # #

"Daddy! You're back!" Hera flung herself into Helo's arms and he scooped her up and kissed her round cheek, squeezing her tightly. It had been two very long days, and he had missed her.

"Sweetie. How are you?"

"I'm okay." She smelt good, her little form solid in his arms. Even though she wasn't in danger any longer Helo could never quite shake the feeling that he had to hang onto his little girl tightly. He noticed suddenly that the animated conversation he had heard approaching the communal log building had halted completely, and he looked around, confused. Immediately suspicious.

"You can go play, sweetie."

Hera ran off out the door and Helo called after her,

"Stay close!" There were older kids out there to keep an eye on her, but Helo still didn't like her wandering too far. He straightened up and brushed his hands on his hands off on his thighs – Hera had been distinctly sticky. Sharon must have been letting her eat maple sap again. He examined his hands, rubbing at the sticky spots, glancing up around the room. Sharon, Jeanne, Paulla, Lee, that kid, Boxey, several Twos and a couple of other colonists all sat or stood around the room, deadly quiet.

"What's up?" Helo asked cautiously, brow furrowing. People looked down at their feet and away from him, and Sharon bit her lip, moved to Helo's side and kissed his cheek. She was trying to distract him; he knew that. She was never demonstrative in public. Something was going on.

"You're back." Sharon said unnecessarily and Helo nodded, hand absently spreading over the bulge of her abdomen, where their little boy or girl was happily ensconced.

"Hmm." He nodded and looked at his wife's dark eyes, shuttered and nervous.

"How did it go?" She asked brightly.

"We brought down five deer." Not really deer but similar to what they'd had on the colonies, larger and with cloven hooves. There was enough meat on one of them to feed four families of three for a week – when rationed carefully – and everyone grinned, congratulating him and the other five colonists he'd gone out with.

He was getting distracted and he pulled his attention back to the room and the uncomfortable silence when he had walked in that only happens when you've just been talking about something you don't want the newcomer to hear. He turned his eyes to Lee.

"What's going on?" It had to be related to the divide in the colonists – what else could it be? He wasn't much interested in whether they kept their ships and all the equipment on there or not. He knew now that they could do without it for day-to-day survival – the only thing that worried him was Sharon, and the baby she carried. Part of this whole leaving technology behind thing sort of implied leaving behind other useful things, like modern medicine – and Helo did not like that idea. But this was important to Sharon, leaving behind everything and starting anew, and so Helo went along with it. Obviously, however, they didn't trust him. Lee shifted uncomfortably and shrugged,

"Just talking."

Helo crossed his arms over his chest and stared down the shorter man,

"About what?" He prodded and Sharon tugged at his arm and he knew she wanted him to drop it, but he couldn't. Things had only been getting more and more serious, and he didn't want their family to be involved if this divide worsened. That was how people got hurt. And his family had suffered enough hurt for one lifetime.

"Lee and Paulla went to see the _President _today, and he still refused to listen to reason. Basically mocked us – mocked what we believe in." Jeanne piped up when Lee was unforthcoming, her voice high with frustration. She was obviously in a state, and Helo narrowed his eyes.

"Bastard. We have a right to be heard – to be listened to and taken seriously! And Romo frakking Lampkin treats us like we're a joke!" Paulla glared around the room and Jeanne nodded in vehement agreement. Lee, however, did not look so enthusiastic with his follower's – because that was what they were, no matter how Lee argued otherwise – fervour. Lee wanted to be the reasonable leader, and Helo understood Lee's vision – he just didn't think it was ever going to come to pass.

Of the approximately thirty thousand remaining colonists at arrival on Earth, only seven thousand had been willing to give up their ships and their old way of life. And just over six thousand of them had scattered in small groups, unwilling to fight to force everyone else to give up their technology, they aimed to live the way they wanted far away from the settlements Romo Lampkin was building. That left the almost 1,000 people settled in the forest behind Landfall – who believed so strongly that technology needed to be eradicated that they stayed and fought, and a few, like Helo and Sharon, who didn't want to leave Landfall and the other colonists completely.

"He's never going to listen, you realise that, don't you?" Helo somehow always ended up being the voice of reason, and people always hated him for it. Now was no different.

"He has to!" Paulla hissed and Jeanne nodded along with her friend.

"We can't make him take us seriously, but we can keep trying. Eventually he'll have to take us seriously." Lee advised and Helo sensed the others' frustration with his plan. They had been trying to get Romo to do what they wanted for months, and he hadn't swayed on his stance. Helo wouldn't have, either, in the President's place. Surprisingly, the kid, Boxey, who was normally quiet as a mouse echoed Helo's thoughts, his young face sullen,

"He's not going to. Why would he? He doesn't care about the future. He just cares about being comfortable now. He's got no vision." His hands wielded a knife, whittling at a hunk of wood, lanky teenage form folded up cross-legged on the floor.

"I know it's discouraging, but there's nothing else we can do." Lee sounded calm but the strain showed on his face.

"Huh." Boxey laughed once, cynically, and Helo frowned at the kid.

"If this isn't working, which it isn't, then maybe we need to try something else." He let the words linger in the stuffy air of the large room, and everyone knew what he meant. Helo frowned as he saw Paulla and Jeanne and the Twos nodding, faces thoughtful.

Godsdamnit.

"I don't want to hear this." Helo leaned forward and pointed his finger around the room accusingly, voice harsh,

"And you shouldn't be godsdamned saying it. Shouldn't even be _thinking_ it." Sharon tugged at his arm again and he went tense, muscles bunched up as he refrained from shaking her hand off. She couldn't be thinking the stupid kid was right, could she? Or Lee – he approve of that, would he? Helo felt very frakking tired all of a sudden.

"We'll do what we need to." Paulla smirked viciously and Helo bit back his anger.

"You're a bunch of godsdamned idiots. Lee? You aren't condoning this, are you?"

"Its just talk, Helo. People are frustrated, sick and tired of being ignored. Its just words, that's all."

Helo jammed his lips together and clamped his jaw shut, shaking his head in disbelief.

"That's a cop out answer, and you know it."

Jeanne glanced nervously from Helo to Lee, shrinking in on herself as she said,

"Maybe he shouldn't be here."

"Maybe I shouldn't." Helo replied sharply, furious under his control.

"Sharon?" She looked back at the others for a moment, face distressed and uncertain, but she nodded to Helo, her spine straight as always. Relief hit him. For a moment he had thought she might…all the old distrust and insecurities had come seeping back in for a split second.

"I'm sorry." Sharon said to the group of dissidents quietly, and led the way out of the building, Helo following behind with one last disillusioned glance for Lee. He never would have thought Lee would allow anyone to even entertain thoughts of violence.

"Hera! Hera, we're going home now!" Helo called for his daughter insistently and a moment later she ran out of the trees, cotton dress billowing around her legs, not as sturdy as they were a few months ago – Hera was shooting upward fast her toddler chubbiness melting away.

"Aw, Daddy, I was –"

"Come on, Hera." He took her sticky little hand firmly in his and looked over her head to Sharon, her eyes black and unreadable until her face softened with the hint of a smile, her hand clasping over Hera's.

# # #

Reviews are a writer's bread and butter – please feed my belly!


	4. Part Four - Tipping Point

Disclaimer: I do not own BSG, and (sadly) make no profit from this story.

**Author's Note:**

Only two more chapters to go after this one and we'll reach the end of Episode One. Whee! Each episode will be posted as a separate story, because…well, just…because. The pace of this episode will be gradually picking up now we've passed the halfway mark – I want each episode to have a certain amount of intensity or turmoil, to reflect the show's _constant_ fever pitch of intensity (except for that episode where Lee went off on his own to rescue the sex worker and her daughter… What _was_ that all about? I love Lee, but I really did not get it).

Enjoy!

# # #

Lee sighed and rolled over on the motley collection of blankets, furs and thin Galactica bunk mattress that made up his and Kara's bed. She snored quietly through her swollen and bruised nose next to him; her arms sprawled out, one lying surprisingly heavy over his chest. She was not a comfortable person to sleep next to. Although, sometimes in the early hours when the sun was just beginning to paint the sky in pinks and golds Lee would stir to consciousness to find her curled into him, dark blonde hair strewn over his shoulder where her head nestled, one of her legs pinning his two. Those were some of the nice moments.

The banked fire smouldered and threw off a dull red glow that kept the moonless night from being space black and shadows warped sluggishly on the roof. Lee shifted Kara's arm and she moaned and mumbled an incoherent complaint, twisted away from him and balled up. He rubbed a hand over his forehead, back over his sticking-up hair. He should be asleep. Contrary to Starbuck's teasing, Lee did not spend most of his time trying to overthrow Romo Lampkin. He worked in the forest mostly, clearing land for cabins and gardens, chopping down and hauling trees for firewood and buildings. It was hard, long work with not a hell of a lot to show for the effort, and nothing like Lee had ever done before.

He had always been most comfortable in the cockpit of a viper. Not the military – no, he had come to realise that wasn't his pathway in life – but flying, out in the black, a raider in his sights. The thrill of adrenaline searing through his body, his thumb ready on the firing button, juking and jinking to avoid the ship on his tail even as he tried to lock onto the one in front of him. That was the place where Lee Adama was completely himself. No pretences, no complications, just the ship in front of him, and the one behind.

And it seemed like that was where Starbuck had always been, for him. His wing mate – covering his ass, her whoops of victory when she scored a raider crackling into his ears, her terse, crass commentary making the experience somehow complete. She wasn't just Kara Thrace, she was Starbuck and he was Apollo, and when they were in the black they fitted together seamlessly. He looked over at the back of her head and wondered why things weren't that simple now they were out of the cockpit.

Okay, Lee could admit he'd changed since the Cylon attack on the Colonies, but he was fundamentally the same person, and so was she. But he knew even as he thought it that he was lying to himself. They weren't the same people – hell, no one even knew if Kara _was_ a person. He quashed that thought. It wasn't fair. And what the hell was he doing lying here sleepless worrying about his love life, anyway? Lee had bigger problems than that.

The divide in the colony, the one that he was the main instigator of, was becoming more fraught with tensions. Not that Lee was sorry for the position he had taken; he had examined his reasoning and motivations multiple times over the past months, and he still believed without reservation that he was right. That his father had been right. Get rid of all the remnants of their old lives. Start fresh, anew. Break the cycle.

But now Lee's faction was getting restive, and he was beginning to doubt his ability to control them. He was their leader, yes, but merely because he had stepped up to lead – they didn't believe in him, they believed in the cause. Paulla had made that clear the other day. Lee grimaced, still irritated by her behaviour in front of the President; it weakened Lee's position in Romo's eyes, and thus their entire cause. Couldn't Paulla see that? The woman was a menace. In fact, all of Gaius frakking Baltar's people were liabilities, and for some reason, Lee seemed to have the lot of them. The whole bloody harem, and every godsdamned one of them champing at the bit for a chance to tear Romo Lampkin apart. And that wasn't fair. Lee knew Romo, knew the President was a good man; genuinely doing what he thought was best. But…

The mood at the meeting today had not been good. Talk like that led to actions, and Lee couldn't trust that he could stop them instigating violence if they chose. Frakking Helo hadn't helped either, filling the air with his 'right is right and wrong is wrong' talk. The part that stung the worst was that Lee knew Helo was right. If it came down to it, the best thing for Lee to do would be to just let it all go and give up on the cause. No matter how much he believed in it, it wasn't worth blood being shed – there had been too much of that in recent years. Better to just fade away into the wilderness like so many others had already done. But he'd passed the tipping point. If he told his people to back down, he'd lose what power he had left and they would never listen to him again. He had to figure something out, and fast. But what, he had no frakking idea.

Lee sighed and tried to banish his thoughts and get a little sleep before the day's beginning. He spooned Kara in his arms and she made a snuffly sound, pressing back into him, and yet it didn't comfort him the way it usually did. His mind still swam. Kara picking a fight with Hoshi – Louis Hoshi of all people! – and coming home late with a battered face and enough alcohol on her breath to set the cabin alight if she sat too near the fire. Romo Lampkin. Paulla and the hard faced idealistic Twos and that cynical kid, Boxey with his hunting knife. His father, dead or alive, somewhere out _there_. The light of the embers on the ceiling moved and swayed as he watched them unfocusedly.

# # #

Joe wiped down the rough wooden surface of his bar, his last few customers staggering out into the night. The table that had come between Starbuck and Hoshi was broken in two – shoddy construction. But then what did Joe expect; he'd had that layabout Sean build the tables in exchange for drinks for himself for two months. Joe blew out the lamps around the bar, making a meandering route toward the door. At this wee hour everything was dark, apart from a few lights flickering in the hospital and the President's home across the way. Joe had liked Laura Roslyn better – a hell of a woman she had been – but this Romo chap did an all right job in Joe's opinion. Joe shut the door tight and slid the deadlock home to make sure no young rascals tried to sneak his drink and headed for his bed.

A few men had brought in more of the native fruit that, when fermented, made a good nutty tasting brew if a little bitter. Joe would have to be up early to start the fermenting process – people drank so much these days, there being little else to do for entertainment, that he was always running low. Not that he got paid money for the drink, but the meat, vegetables and other necessities people brought in when they could kept him flush in what luxuries this planet had available. He yawned as he crawled into his soft bed, and doused the lantern.

# # #

The sun was only peeking above the horizon as soft conversation whispered from the top of a ridgeline in the forest, floating down unintelligible through the tangled green of trees and underbrush. A small group of people crouched on the loose stones and earth of the ridge with bows in hand, watching for early-rising creatures, minds more on their tense discussion than hunting.

"He's losing it. We can't trust him any longer." It was an insistent murmur, neither overtly male nor female in tone. A young voice.

"He just doesn't want to burn bridges. He's fought for this as much as any of us – more even. He says violence won't help – shouldn't we pay heed to that?" A male voice, more playing Devil's advocate than believing the words he spoke.

"Yes we can." The androgynous young voice protested,

"He's not achieving anything. He'll never achieve anything. Lampkin doesn't want to listen. His mind won't be changed by words."

"We chose him as our mouth-piece. He's doing the best he can. We have to trust in him – he's right, if we turn to violence we'll never be listened to. We'll be criminals." This voice was definitely female, high and unsure.

"If that frightens you then you don't have to be involved." The young voice was contemptuous and then made a small grunt as though someone had elbowed its owner.

"She has a son to care for, you frakking dolt. She can't risk getting locked up – or worse." A second female voice scolded.

"Then what is she even doing here?" The young voice asked sensibly and scuffing noises came as people moved about on the loose shale, low and flurried whispering between the two female voices. An accord was reached after a moment.

"I'll see you later. Good – good hunting." The higher female voice said and her footsteps retreated swiftly. There was silence for a time, the only sound that of birdsong carried on the wind.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" The remaining woman asked.

"Yes." Came after a long pause, the one word filled with resolve, the voice sounding even younger.

"It has to be public. To send a message." The male voice spoke, no sign of hesitancy or nervousness – perfectly calm and steady, its owner's eyes trained on the forest below.

"I know." The young voice answered.

"And that means they _will_ catch you." The man continued calmly.

"I understand."

"Hah. At least they don't have airlocks to toss _you_ out." The man was bitterly amused and his two companions cringed a little.

"Don't, Leon." The woman reprimanded him but the man was not daunted, continuing,

"Now we just need to figure out the details."

The man's bow suddenly came up at the ready and he froze.

"One of those bear-things. At 11 O'clock." He broke off their previous discussion tersely and made a soft hissing sound, an unnecessary signal for silence, and the woman and androgynous young voice stayed mute, fitting arrows to their own bows and training them on the creature. Even conspiracies of assassination came second to food.

# # #

"I _have_ to say something, Sharon."

Athena ladled a puree of nutty-tasting roots into Hera's bowl and nodded at her husband with a sigh, full lips held tightly.

"Of _course_ you do, Karl." He frowned at her as he straightened from the hearth.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Eat up, Hera sweetie. It's good for you. It was the same when the chance came to infect the other Cylons with the virus. And when the Geminons were ill. And…well, there were other things, too. You always have to do what's right, regardless of the possible cost to yourself." Athena returned the pot of puree to its spot over the fire and slid her arms around Helo's waist, looking up at him and dropping a kiss on his chest, to show she wasn't really angry with him. And she wasn't, just frustrated. Her bump came between them, warm and firm and Helo stroked the side of the large swell with a large blunt-fingered hand.

"But it's not just you, Karl. It's Hera, and this next baby whose lives you're putting at risk. Maybe it's best to keep quiet. I'm sure the President is aware of any dangers."

"I don't know how you can say that, Sharon." He detached from her, his face crinkling with that almost betrayed look of disbelief he had at times like this, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm not going to do anything to put you and Hera at risk. I would never do that. But a discreet word in Lampkin's ear, that won't hurt us. I just – I can't keep quiet about it."

"Karl Agathon, upholder of right and good." Athena mocked him but a smile tickled at the corners of her lips. As much as she hated Helo putting himself in the line of fire, so to speak – and sometimes literally – it was one of the things she loved about him. He wouldn't be Helo if he didn't always have that godsdamned urge to do the right thing.

Helo shrugged and tried to brush off her half-compliment.

"So…?"

"Go then. Tell the President that Lee's faction is getting restive." Athena gave in, smiling at Helo even though she felt hollow and uncertain within. She would rather they keep to themselves until all this conflict finally blew over.

Athena was sick and tired of all the strife, the deceit, the risk; she had desperately wanted to leave that all behind now they were on Earth. Her life as first Boomer, the undercover Cylon on Caprica, then Sharon Valerii, the Cylon prisoner on Galactica, and then Sharon Agathon, Raptor pilot again, with her new call sign, Athena…it had been conflict and pain and tested loyalties. Helo and Hera had been the only good things in that life, and more than anything Athena wanted peace, to live quietly with her little expanding family.

Helo returned her smile, face grave despite the curve of his mouth.

"Thank you. I – I'll just speak to Romo Lampkin, and then I'll leave it alone, okay?"

"Okay." Athena was big-eyed and solemn, her oval face serious as Helo dropped a kiss on her lips.

"I'll go now, before Landfall gets busy." Helo kissed Hera goodbye and grabbed his jacket.

"Be careful you aren't seen by…anyone."

"I will. Don't worry, Sharon."

But she did worry. It was impossible not to. She laid another log on the fire and poured a cup of pine needle tea, sitting opposite her daughter at the table, the simple stool beneath her roughly made and wobbling.

"Eat up, Hera, and then we'll go get some water from the stream for the garden."

# # #

"Tigh. Good. I need to speak to you and Starbuck."

"About what, Mister President?"

"Do you mind if we wait until she arrives before I explain?"

"Depends. How long is she going to take to get down here? I have things to do, you know." Tigh was gruff as always, his manner unpolished, one remaining eye glaring angrily at the world.

"I sent Redwing up to fetch her a half hour ago. She should be here shortly."

"All right then." Tigh grumbled and took a seat at Romo's small table; one ripped straight out of Galactica's mess rooms, and ditto with the four chairs.

Romo attempted small talk but Tigh quickly shut it down. He wasn't interested in having any heart to hearts with the President. Sure, he worked for the man, because Ellen thought it was best and Tigh had nothing else to do, but that didn't mean he liked him. Romo Lampkin was a slick double-talker, in Tigh's opinion. A lawyer, which made him automatically mistrusted by Tigh.

So they waited in silence.

Starbuck was a good ten minutes, and she burst into Romo's home a little out of breath, with her hair pulled messily back, a stained military dress jacket mismatching with her civilian tee shirt and pants.

"Cold." She told Tigh abruptly when she saw him eyeing her less-than-tidy clothing and he nodded in curt understanding. Not many people had much more than a couple of changes of clothing left, and most of that was a motley mix.

Tigh grunted.

"So, you gonna tell us what's going on now, Mister President?" Impatient to get away and get on with the day. Co-ordinating the twenty-four hour patrols that encircled Landfall along with any other security related matters, working in his garden with Ellen for a while, heading down to Joe's for a drink – that was Tigh's daily life. And as tedious as it was, Tigh intensely disliked having anyone come in and frak it up.

Romo adjusted his sunglasses – he never seemed to take them off and Tigh found the affectation godsdamned irritating – and made a short humming sound.

"Cigarette?" He offered to Tigh and Starbuck; Tigh refused but Starbuck accepted, taking a seat with the two men at the table and turning the rough-rolled cigarette over and over in her fingers.

"I had an early morning visit. Woke both Jake and I up, didn't it, Jake?" The handsome dog cocked his head at the sound of his name but didn't move from the end of Lampkin's bed. Tigh rubbed under his eye patch – the empty socket still itched, even after all this time – and waited impatiently for the President to explain.

"Karl Agathon made a clandestine visit."

Tigh saw Starbuck's eyes widen, and she leaned forward a little, lighting her cigarette and taking a draw, smoke wisping from between her lips as she spoke.

"Helo? What did he want to see you for? He and Sharon are in Lee's camp."

"Lee's camp? Hah. You're one to talk – _you're_ in Lee Adama's frakking _bed_." Tigh grimaced at the ex-pilot and crossed his arms over his chest; it bothered his sense of things that someone so involved personally with the 'other side' was privy to the President's plans.

Starbuck glared at him and half-stood, about to say something undoubtedly unpleasant when Romo Lampkin smoothly intervened. He held up a hand,

"I understand that Starbuck's involvement with Mr Adama makes you uncomfortable, Saul. But I trust her. She wants what's best for the people, don't you, Starbuck?" The woman pursed her lips, unhappy, and sat back down, dragging on her cigarette before responding,

"I'm not going to go running back to Lee and sharing classified information with him, if that's what you're worried about."

"Huh." Saul grunted, but he knew Lampkin was right to trust Starbuck. Dislike the situation as he may, Tigh couldn't ignore the fact that Starbuck was as trustworthy as they came.

"As I was saying, Karl – Helo – Agathon came to see me early this morning. He didn't stay long, but he imparted some relatively useful information in his short stay." Romo continued on,

"Apparently Lee Adama is losing control over his little group. They're getting impatient with his approach, realising that it's not going to work. Helo was present yesterday when they began talking about talking violent measures. Most likely against myself." As smooth talking and calm as the President appeared, Tigh could see the twitchy signs of fear bubbling through to the surface. The man was afraid for his skin.

"We knew some godsdamned thing like this could happen – why are we meant to be bothered by it now, Mister President?" Tigh asked and Romo smiled quietly to himself.

"Because Lee has lost control. Before he could always hold them in check, now, Helo thinks they'll try something with or without Lee Adama's permission. The danger has gone from possible, to definite. It's only a matter of when, at this point."

Starbuck shook her head,

"Lee would never give his permission for violence or assassination."

"You don't know that. He's not Captain Apollo anymore, little girl." Tigh growled and smirked as Starbuck went pale and furious. Tigh smiled grimly and wetted his lips with a flick of his tongue; face hard on Starbuck as though daring her to do something. She held herself in check – barely – and Tigh found himself feeling almost a little disappointed.

"It's not in Mr Adama's nature to condone an assassination or a brutal uprising, not in these circumstances, at least." And Tigh had to admit that Lampkin was right – Lee had done a lot of things in recent years that Bill would've hated, including leaving the military, but he wouldn't use assassination as a tool. Not when it would completely destabilise the colonist's existence, and put humanity's survival in jeopardy. And if he would, he sure as hell didn't deserve to be called an Adama anymore.

"If I have judged Lee Adama rightly, he would be more likely to back down on the issue than to cause bloodshed. Regardless, he is no longer an effective head of his movement – from what Agathon told me, the person currently usurping that position would be Paulla, the woman who was in Baltar's cult, and took over it when he lost interest. She's the one who is beginning to pull the strings."

"Why don't you have her arrested?" Starbuck asked impatiently and Lampkin smiled, a smug, knowing expression.

"On what charges? No, no, that would just make a martyr out of her; push the others into further agitation. No, the best thing to do is let it lie, and hope Mr Adama manages to wrest the control back again." Lampkin didn't sound as though he thought that were likely, and Tigh thought it'd happen when pigs flew. Lee Adama had been slowly losing control for years, stuck in a downward spiral. No one was going to listen to a man who didn't even know who he godsdamned was or what he stood for. Tigh rubbed beneath his eye patch again. Frakking thing was a pain in the ass.

"So what's the plan, then?" Tigh asked, impatience bleeding into his tone. Romo Lampkin lit a cigarette, puffed, smiled enigmatically, and Tigh wished the man would take off his godsdamned sunglasses. He liked to see people's eyes when he talked to them.

"I'm just letting you know what the situation is, Saul. You're the head of Landfall's security, police force, whatever you like to call it. I want you to up patrols in and around Landfall and be more mindful of security. If any of the more fervent members of Lee's little faction come into the settlement I want them watched – I value my life, and I have no desire to die any time soon."

"Understood." That was all the man had needed to say – up security – and Tigh would've done it. There was no need for this drawn out little affair.

Tigh pushed himself to his feet and gave Romo a brusque questioning look.

"Anything else, Mister President?"

"No, that'll be all, Saul." Another thing that bothered Tigh, being called by his first name. Lampkin knew that, and Tigh was almost completely sure that was why the President called him Saul. The man seemed to have a penchant for getting under people's skin, almost as though he irritated them into doing what he wanted.

"Mister President. Starbuck." A curt nod to each of them and Tigh escaped the room.

# # #

After Tigh's typically abrupt departure Romo eyed Starbuck through the clouds of blue-grey smoke that wafted over the table. She shifted uncomfortably, stubbed out her cigarette and sniffed, eyed him right back. The silence stretched on, until finally she broke it.

"So, why did you want me here, sir?" She was unsure, uneasy, her posture defensive. Romo smiled disarmingly at her, but it didn't work – such gestures never worked on Starbuck. The woman was hard as nails, and gentle overtures went ignored.

"You're worried I'm going to want you to use your position with Lee to my benefit." Romo stated as he tapped the ash of the end of his cigarette and Starbuck said nothing, but her expression gave away that yes, she had been thinking exactly that.

She blew out a puff of air, gnawed on her lip.

"I wouldn't, sir. You could ask me, but I wouldn't." Starbuck's face was hard but her eyes exposed a hint of vulnerability. Romo tipped his head to the side.

"I'm not going to ask you to be my pet spy. It seems I may already have one, in the form of Karl Agathon –"

"Don't call him that."

"What, Karl?" Romo squinted behind his glasses at Starbuck and she shook her head no, looking at him like he was an idiot for not understanding her meaning.

"A spy. Helo wouldn't do that. He's not underhanded, he's not...well, if he passed on information to you, it was because he felt it was the right thing to do, not because he's _spying._"

"I meant no aspersions on the character of Mr Agathon." Romo suppressed a smirk.

Starbuck folded her arms and tilted her chair onto its back legs, frowning at Romo. He leaned forward over the table.

"I need to know where you stand. Do I have your loyalties, completely and utterly? Or do they still lie with Mr Adama?"

"I –" She began and he railroaded over her,

"Because if you have even the slightest issue with obeying orders that may involve Mr Adama, his movement or his people, I need to know. I would understand, of course, but I still need to know. At this point I cannot afford to have people around me that I can't trust completely." Romo finished and looked Starbuck up and down. He knew that she loved Lee Adama, but did she love the man enough to stand with him even when he took a stance she didn't agree with?

"It's not Lee who's a danger. It's that frakking _bitch_, Paulla." She tried to sidestep the issue, and Romo pressed it.

"True, perhaps. But I asked you a question, Starbuck." Romo waited, and waited, until Starbuck met his eyes with a pained twist to her mouth and admitted,

"I couldn't do anything that hurts Lee – personally. I couldn't…I could lock him up, but…" She trailed off and her eyes were large and pained. Romo paused and considered his words, her expression striking a chord in him. He understood her.

"I wouldn't ask that of you, Starbuck. I'm not heartless, nor am I stupid."

Starbuck sighed, looked at her hands for a long moment and then, at last, nodded.

"Then I can do my duty, sir. I agreed to work for you to protect the people of Landfall, including yourself. I agreed to obey your orders. I gave you my word." She pursed her mouth up defiantly, gave that little smirk.

"Are you questioning my word, sir?"

"No, Starbuck. Most certainly not. Thank you." The words were meant deeply – Lampkin knew what it would cost Starbuck if she were placed explicitly at odds with Lee, but he trusted her word. If she said she was loyal to him over Lee Adama, then she was.

"That's all, Starbuck." He dismissed the ex-pilot with a nod and flick of his fingers. She stood to leave, watching him warily as though debating whether or not to speak. Romo raised his eyebrows, tugged his sunglasses down his nose with a crooked finger and peered over them at her quizzically.

"Uh. Maybe you should have personal protection for a while. Just in case someone really does try to assassinate you." She was acting flippant and overly casual and Romo felt inwardly very smug. That he could depend on her became a concrete certainty.

"Good idea." Romo stood and let a slight smirk escape his calmly set features.

"You can do it."

"Me?"

"You suggested it." He grinned openly at Starbuck's expression.

# # #

**Author's Note: **

Next chapter, Part Five – Choices We Make: Excitement! Intensity! Bad things happen! But whom do they happen to? Tigh says 'frakking' a lot! Eeeep - feel the anticipation!

Well, I know you're reading folks (Yay!), and it gives me an enormous happy to see the read count going up every day…but I am bereft of reviews/comments :( Just one itty-bitty comment before the next update (in two days time) is all I ask. Puhleeease?

/shameless begging


	5. Part Five - Choices We Make

BSG does not belong to ME.

**Author's Note:**

Whee! My first review! So I'm putting this next chapter up right godsdamned now in celebration. Please, give me MOAR. MOAR!

Roll the next exciting instalment…

# # #

"Read 'em and weep." Leo "Salty" Chiang slapped down his hand.

"Prince high red." He smirked around the table as the other players swore and shook their heads in disgust. _Triad_ was an entertaining way to pass the afternoon, at least, when you were on break and drinking was unfortunately disallowed. He collected up his meagre winnings.

Salty himself had tossed in the promise of a large tanned fur big enough for a blanket, and a bucket of soaproot if Tammy won – a common enough plant but a pain in the ass to dig up – or five occasions of babysitting for Hotdog if he had won. He was now also the proud owner of a chit of Hotdog's (twenty free drinks from Joe's Bar) and a packet of baccy that Hotdog had grown and dried himself, and a pretty little wooden carving of Earth and a note promising two bottles of sweetened palm wine that Tammy had put up as her stake. Nothing like the more ordinary monetary gain they used to play for on Galactica – not that Tammy had ever played _Triad_ on Galactica, being a civilian – but it would all come in handy.

"Frak you, Salty. Damn." Tammy swore good-naturedly as she tossed down her cards. _Three up_.

"Not a bad hand. Too bad mine was better." Salty cracked his knuckles and grinned around the table.

"You better not throw that away. I spent hours on that frakking thing." Tammy pointed a finger at the detailed little carving, face set in a mock scowl.

"Ah, you're always working on one thing or another, Tammy." Hotdog was teasingly dismissive and Salty just shrugged, infuriating Tammy on purpose,

"Hey, it's mine now – I can toss it if I want." Actually Salty had already thought of a use for the trinket – he planned on giving to a woman he'd been seeing for a couple of weeks now. Nora Oriana, a nurse at Landfall's hospital, who was possibly the most beautiful and terrifyingly practical woman Leo "Salty" Chiang had ever met. It was a fine piece of carving.

Tammy flapped her hands at him and made out that she was angry, but the weather was too hot for such silly games and their mock-argument dissolved into sweaty silence.

"Godsdamnit I'm so sick of the heat. Doesn't winter ever come on this frakking planet?" Tammy fanned herself with a hand of cards and Hotdog kicked her limply under the table.

"Oh frak, don't say that. Now you've just assured that winter's gonna come right around the corner, and it's gonna be the meanest winter you've ever lived through."

"Superstitious bastard." Tammy stuck out her tongue, a funny look on a woman pushing fifty, her steel grey hair swept back into a dignified bun.

"No, really, it's like saying, 'today is going to go perfectly smoothly' – it jinxes the hell out of it." Hotdog frowned and squinted at Salty and Tammy.

"Oh shit. I think I just did it." Hotdog's face was a study in worried ruefulness, and Salty wished he had a camera to capture the moment. He snorted and started laughing at Hotdog, caught up in Tammy's giggles, all while Hotdog glared indignantly.

"Seriously, you guys. It's not frakking funny. I've totally jinxed my day." Hotdog insisted and Salty choked down his laughter, nodding seriously.

"My grandmother used to say that too much boastfulness and expectation attracted evil spirits…that to declare the future was to offend the gods."

"Seriously?" Hotdog drank it up, and Salty nodded, making his round face as serious as it could be at this point, Triad straight.

"She used to tell me that when one offended the gods in such a way, the only thing to do was to make something bad happen to yourself."

"What? I don't get it…"

Tammy suppressed a snort and Salty shot her a warning look.

"Well, you kind of pre-emptively break the jinx. Like…go fall off a roof, or eat a few whole chilli pods, or get into a bar fight." Salty explained, lips twitching as Hotdog nodded eagerly, leaning forward across the table. Salty could almost see Hotdog mentally taking notes and filing the information away.

"So I should go…hurt myself?" Hotdog looked a little unsure, but perfectly willing, and Tammy couldn't hold it in any longer – she bubbled over with infectious laughter, and Salty found himself roaring along with her, large hand slapping the table and tears of hilarity springing into his eyes. Hotdog looked around in confusion before he clicked.

"Oh. Oh! Frak you guys! Assholes!" He shoved his chair back and got to his feet, glaring down at Salty and Tammy.

Salty's sides ached as he replied gaspingly,

"Well, to be fair…my grandmother did used to tell us kids that." Salty snorted helplessly and wiped at his eyes,

"But after my cousin Zika jumped off the barn roof and accidentally broke both legs, she decided she would rather have risked the possible jinx than have assured being bedridden for a fortnight." And went off into gales of laughter again.

"Oh shit, it's coming up on 1500. Time for patrol." Tammy pulled herself together and Salty followed suit, only the occasional snortle of laughter escaping him. Hotdog didn't look pleased, but frak it, they all needed laughter on this damned planet, or they'd go insane. Salty shoved his winnings into the canvas bag on his particular hook by the door and nodded at the other two.

"Come on then. We better get moving. The Colonel gave us strict orders – we're watching out for the hill folk today." The pejorative for the ex-Major Adama's faction of anti-tech folk. Bunch of loonies in Salty's opinion.

"Extra sharp, all right?"

"Extra sharp. Yeah. Huh. I can feel it in my bones. I'm telling you – it's all gonna go wrong for us today." Hotdog said mournfully.

# # #

Gaius Baltar squinted up at the skies.

"Looks like rain today." He mentioned, examining the clouds above. Thick darkly bluish-grey ones that loomed overhead, gargantuan monsters that contrasted sharply with the blue of the skies to the east.

"You're dreaming, Gaius. They're heat clouds." Caprica corrected him bluntly and he frowned, knowing she was right. But the crops needed water, and surely he could be forgiven a little unscientific hope. The irrigation system he had developed using one of the nearby large streams worked, but didn't deliver as much moisture to the ground as Gaius would have liked. He shaded his eyes from the sun's rays beaming out through gaps in the cloud cover, and nodded.

"You're right." Several birds wheeled above, screeching, the mountain range looking eerie in the unusual yellowish light that streamed through the heavy cloud.

Gaius jammed the hoe, that he'd made from a piece of sharp bent metal and a long smooth wooden branch lashed together, into the rich soil of his fields and brushed off his hands. No longer delicately soft and clean, his palms were ingrained with dirt, and the pads at the base of his fingers all sported calluses. At first the change had disturbed him, but now Gaius accepted it as simply part of the new life he had chosen.

"I need a break." He looked around his domain, the farmland stretching out around him, the largest one near Landfall, and thriving beyond anyone else's. It turned out he had been right when he'd told Caprica he knew about farming.

Of course, the modern farming he had grown up with as a child was very different to this rough attempt. Gaius had been forced to make most of his tools himself – no easy task for a man long out of touch with such earthy practicalities – and the plants he was dealing with were very different to what the colonies had grown. It would take thousands of years of cultivation to develop horticulture to the level of variety and domestication they had back in the colonies. But they managed.

"I picked a bucketful of brambleberries this morning." Caprica curled her fingers around Gaius' arm as they headed across the fields to the cabin they called home. Her hand was cool on Gaius' skin, around the wiry muscles he had developed through the months of hard labour. Gaius smiled, his mouth watering with anticipation. Brambleberries were delicious. Sweet yet tart, they were tiny knobbly pink-red berries that grew on thorny bushes up the mountain a way, always on the bank of a snowmelt stream. However,

"You didn't go up alone did you?" His protective instincts kicked in, and Caprica nudged him affectionately, her steps slow and measured next to his.

"Of course not. I went with Hestia and Eleanor." The two women were Sixes that Caprica was friendly with.

"Good. I just…"

"I know, Gaius. You don't like me walking that far by myself."

"There are creatures in the forest, especially that high up! Bear things and…and…things that want to eat you!" He was defensive and the words spilled out of him in that awkward, babbling way he hated. It didn't happen as much now that he wasn't trying to deceive everyone around him, though. It was an enormously pleasant change in lifestyle, not having to double-check and worry over every word that came out of his mouth, lest it get him airlocked or shot.

Caprica was smiling fondly at him as they ascended the few steps to their porch and entered the three-roomed house that was practically a mansion by Landfall standards.

"I know, Gaius. We were careful. And I took the gun, anyway." Their treasured military pistol – they only had two magazines of ammunition for it, and every bullet was carefully kept, so Caprica had protection when she went out from the farm. There were a wide variety of predators in the forests and plains that were large enough to take down a person without blinking.

"You shouldn't be walking so far anyway, Caprica. You'll hurt yourself with all that hilly walking. And what if something happened?" Gaius fretted as he un-shuttered the glassless windows in the kitchen/dining/lounge room and let the sun and fresh air stream in.

Caprica took off the floppy sun hat she wore and shrugged.

"I took it carefully. Besides, there's still a while to go yet, Gaius." Gaius shot her a pleading look,

"There's not, and you know it. Please, don't go that far again."

Caprica pursed her lips a little, annoyed at his restrictions, but nodded at last as she moved toward the kitchen bench.

"I won't, if only to keep you from panicking." Making it clear she thought he was being silly.

"I'll get lunch, Pree, you sit down." Gaius pulled out a chair for his partner and ushered her to sit, solicitous as always. Caprica's enormously rounded belly prevented her from sitting right up against the table, and she sighed with relief as she took her weight off her feet, stretching her legs out under the ship-scavenged table.

Gaius smiled at the sight of her. Her wavy blonde hair was longer now and twisted up in a bun at the back of her head, her face softer with the pregnancy weight gain. She suited it, round and ripe and delicious. Gaius bent and kissed her lingeringly, one now-rough hand cupping the back of her head, the other drifting over her abdomen.

Caprica's smile as Gaius finally pulled away was beatific.

Gaius stoked up the banked fire and set it to a bright blaze, hanging a kettle of water over it and tossing in a large handful of pine needles. On the bench – wood with a sheet of metal covering it – sat the bucket of brambleberries Pree had picked, and Gaius rinsed them in a bucket of cooled boiled water; they all drank their water boiled, in case of disease. He tipped some onto two plates – also from the ships that orbited above. Gaius and Caprica's house and contents were all a mixture of things made on Earth and brought down from the ships. A couple of pieces of unleavened bread and some strips of venison jerky completed their lunch meal.

He smiled as he readied the food, wondering at how easy it all seemed, how seamlessly he had transitioned from what he had been, to what he was now. The Gaius of even a year ago would never have imagined he could have become a simple farmer, and, even worse, be happy with that. The Gaius of a year ago would have been mortally offended by that suggestion.

"The potatoes look like they're ready to be dug. And the greens are ready for picking too." Gaius mentioned as he brought the plates over and went to fetch a couple of mugs. The pot over the fire was beginning to bubble, the scent of pine filling the tiny living area.

"Good. I was wanting to go into Landfall soon anyway." Caprica picked at her bread, pulling off little chunks and nibbling at it carefully. Her morning sickness was persisting, and unfortunately not restricted to the morning – even now at an approximate eight months gestation.

"What for?"

"Baby things, mostly. And I need to trade some of my older pregnancy clothes for something that will fit me after the baby is born." She plucked at the large men's tee shirt and elastic-waisted cotton shorts she wore with distaste. A far cry from the crisp, expensive clothing she had worn when Gaius had first met her on her namesake planet. Caprica still hated looking unstylish, not that she or anyone else had much choice at this point. If they didn't find a crop or animal that could be used to make cloth or yarn, at this rate they'd all be wearing skins within a few years.

"I'll get Tycho and Selah in to help me with the harvest, then." Gaius was reluctant although he knew it had to be done. He poured the pine needle tea and sat down opposite Caprica at the table. Although they lived some way out from Landfall, he still heard news from his farming neighbours about the growing unrest hovering over the main settlement. He retained enough of his old strong value for his skin to not want to be in the vicinity if or when things frakked up. He hoped it would be over and done or blown over before Caprica's time arrived – they planned on a delivery in Landfall's hospital if possible, with Doc Cottle attending.

Gaius hunched to peer out one of the small windows, frowning at the sky. The blue-grey clouds hung above, gigantic, and sweeping in front of the sun on the brisk wind. They seemed almost ominous, straggles of yellow sunlight seeping through to paint the land an eerie colour.

"I don't like the look of that weather."

# # #

The Council meeting had left Starbuck yawning. A bunch of bureaucrats sitting around a table talking; they were all talk and no action. Wasting their time arguing about the issues that affected the colonists' lives instead of actually doing something. It took them hours to all agree on the simplest thing. In this case, giving the colonists permission to shoot to kill any natives that came onto their land. Starbuck huffed to herself as she followed Romo out of the Council building. The colonists weren't going to wait for the Council to give their permission before they protected their family – they would do it anyway.

Stupid frakking bureaucrats.

Starbuck squinted as she stepped from the dimness of the building and into the afternoon light; even with the heavy cloud cover they'd had, the sun was still blinding after sitting in the dark room for several hours. She was distracted; by her thoughts and her eyes adjusting, and when a body slammed into her Starbuck was disoriented, reactions slow. She staggered back and pushed the body aside, realising as she did that it was Romo, and her mind instantly clicked that something was terribly wrong. People were shouting and she saw a lithe figure fling itself at Romo again, something glinting steel and blood in their hand.

Frak.

Her gun cleared its holster in a split second, her hands pointing the weapon automatically, pulling the trigger even as the blur of movement with the knife lunged at the President again. Oh frakking hell. The gun bucked in her hands and the figure jerked and halted, stumbling a step back. Still upright, though, and on instinct Starbuck tracked the attacker and shot them again, square in the chest. The attacker let the knife drop to the ground, the blade catching the sun as it fell, then went down on a knee before tipping face forward in the dirt. People were still screaming and yelling and the world seemed to be moving in blurred stop-motion as Starbuck wheeled her eyes around, searching for more danger. Were there more assassins?

Frak, frak, _frak_!

The words repeated in her head but her lips were flattened together, gun held outstretched in both hands as she scanned the area. Nothing.

She saw the current Landfall patrol running towards her; Salty, Tammy and Hotdog, feet pounding the ground as they converged on where Starbuck stood, two bodies at her feet.

Romo. Oh gods, Romo.

She scrambled to her knees and carefully rolled him over onto his back, hands patting over his torso.

"Taking liberties with my person, Starbuck?" He choked in that pommy accent of his with a weak and lopsided grin and Starbuck snorted, playing along even though in her mind she was frantic,

"Yes, Mr President, sir. You know me." Three wounds. One in his left side, and two in the belly. Council members were exiting the tent and Starbuck realised with a shock that it had only been seconds since the attack. She blinked and tried to focus.

"Mr Ababa," She snapped at the first person she saw,

"Get down here and put pressure here and here – now!" The bewildered and frightened man obeyed her orders immediately and she thanked the gods for civilians that could do as they were told in a crisis.

"Salty! Go get Doc Cottle if one of these rubberneckers haven't already thought of doing so." She raised her voice deliberately and her peripheral vision noted the watchers looking embarrassed. Salty jerked off a nod and took off at a dead sprint.

"Tammy. Put pressure here." She removed her hand from one of the holes Mr Ababa wasn't covering and placed Tammy's hand firmly over it. Starbuck's palm was slick with blood and she heaved a deep breath, trying to keep it together as she knelt in the dirt.

"Hotdog, get these folk the frak out of here!"

He nodded,

"Yes, sir!" Face pale and yelled,

"Right, you heard her! Get the frak out of here! If this area isn't clear in ten seconds we'll be throwing people in jail!" He marched up and down the clustered ragged line of observers, stamping his foot in the dirt and leaning forward,

"Move!" He roared and they scattered.

Good man, Hotdog, Starbuck thought idly and jumped as something clapped around her wrist. It was Romo's hand. She turned her eyes to Romo's face, ashen from fear and blood loss, mouth moving as though he wanted to speak and was too afraid. Starbuck knew what he wanted to know. And she couldn't answer it – how the frak did she know if he'd live or die? So she said what you always say.

"Doc Cottle's on his way, sir. He'll have you patched up in no time. You'll be fine." And he believed her. They always did. She detached his clammy hand from her wrist and laid it over his chest, patting his shoulder lightly, and scrambled to her feet, wiping her hands roughly on her pants.

Who the frak had stabbed him? Who the frak had Starbuck shot? And were they still alive?

The body lay a few feet away, obviously male, and Starbuck felt her heart sink as she got a good look. He didn't appear to be breathing, and blood seeped sluggishly into a large stain on the ground. She bent down and flipped the prone figure onto his back.

"Oh frak." Her still blood-smeared hands covered her mouth,

"Oh gods, no." Her voice trembled with anger and the beginnings of pain and she shook her head with desperate denial. A shock of shortish darkish hair set over a sharp-featured young face.

"Who is it, Starbuck?" Hotdog called as he jogged over and Starbuck looked up at him, face contorted as she forced down tears.

"Boxey." She sounded tired as she spoke, sick and weary, but to her ears there was no hint of the tears she was choking down.

Of course it was Boxey – who else could it be? He was- had been – the most impatient person in Lee's faction, and a stupid, idiot teenage boy to boot. Of course it was frakking Boxey. His eyes were open, collecting the dust thrown up by the frantic movement in the dirt of the street, and Starbuck didn't need to check his pulse to know he was dead.

Starbuck steeled herself as she stood back up, channelling her feelings into anger instead of grief.

"Frakking idiot. What the frak did he do this for?" Lost in sudden fury she kicked at Boxey's body, small and vulnerable in death.

"Hey. Starbuck, come on." Hotdog grabbed her arm and yanked her back, sharp in her ear,

"Frakking calm down, Starbuck. There are still people watching." He jerked his head over at the curious and frightened faces still watching from a safe distance.

"Frak off!" She yelled at them and kicked again, at the ground this time, raising dust that rained down over Boxey's body, shaking off Hotdog's restraining arm.

Behind her Doc Cottle had arrived at a swift jog and was examining the President, getting him onto a gurney and strapping on pressure bandages. Starbuck swivelled on her heel, saw Romo was already out cold from something Doc Cottle had given him.

"He gonna live, Doc?" She spared the niceties seeing as Romo was unaware, and the Doc glared at her, like he did at almost everyone constantly,

"Have to wait and see. It's not good. Stab wounds rarely are. Is the kid gone?"

"He's dead alright." Starbuck was flippant but inside she was seething. Cottle didn't stay to chat, heading back off to the hospital at a trot, Romo Lampkin being jolted along on a gurney pushed by a couple of nurses, his head lolling to the side.

Starbuck took a moment, trying to ignore the buzzing and flapping of disoriented panic around her. The council members had unfortunately not taken Hotdog's orders to frak off as being addressed to them, and they hovered in the doorway behind her, a hubbub of noise.

"Who's going to be President if Lampkin doesn't pull through?"

"I'm sure that boy is under Lee Adama's command…"  
"He came right at him with a knife! Out of nowhere!"

"Wonder if Thrace let it happen…"

"She is sleeping with Adama, after all."

Starbuck breathed deeply and fixed her eyes on the mountains in the distance, the weird yellow light peeking through the plump clouds making the forest banding their bases a richer, lusher green. She stared into the distance, silent, collecting her thoughts and blocking out the noise around her. The dark clouds looming in the usually clear blue skies drew her eye and she wondered for the fourth time that day whether it was going to rain, an oddly ordinary question in the moment.

Frak.

Where the hell was Tigh? Good question, actually.

"Where the frak is Colonel Tigh?" She barked out at the closest person to her – Tammy. The woman flinched, shrugged,

"I – I'll go get him, sir." She answered wisely and took off down the street toward the Tighs' home. Shit. Two seconds was all it took for everything to go to hell. Starbuck turned her anger on the Council members,

"Get the _frak_ outta here before someone comes along and stabs you, too. I'll keep you informed of the situation, but you're cluttering up the street here." She swore at them as they milled about aimlessly,

"Didn't you hear me? This is a motherfrakking crime scene you dumb fraks! Now move it!" And as they began to disperse with nervous, disapproving looks, snarled under her breath,

"Godsdamned bureaucrats."

# # #

Author's Note:

Coming up next, Part Six – 'A Waking Dream'. In which everyone tries to cope in the aftermath. Ooooo! Exciting!

Right, well – the next chapter is the last one in Episode One.

After it's done and posted, I'm going to quickly go back through this episode, correct all the probable many typos and such, and re-rate it with a T Rating, as I don't think it qualifies for an M. The next episode, however, will definitely have to be an M… Hehe.

Constructive criticism and feedback and just a good old 'I liked it' are a writer's lifeblood – _please_ donate to me, before I bleed out just like Boxey did D: D:


	6. Part Six - A Waking Dream

Insert Standard Disclaimer _Here_.

_Author's Note:_

A _huge_ thank you to those who have reviewed! I appreciate it immensely! Hearing that people actually enjoy what I've written is a big part of what motivates me to keep going.

And so, here we are, at the final part of Episode One: If Wishes Were Fishes.

The aftermath…

# # #

Hotdog jogged after Starbuck through the forest, feet slipping and catching in the tangled undergrowth and the sloping uneven ground, his breath coming jagged and sharp, burning his lungs. He frowned and heaved a snorting breath through his nose, hard pressed to keep up with Starbuck. It seemed like pure fury was keeping her going, feet slamming into the ground like it had personally offended her. She was frakking _pissed_.

"Wait up!" Hotdog called ahead ashamedly as he fell further behind, a stitch starting in his side.

"Move it, Hotdog!" She snapped over her shoulder, but her pace slowed a little, letting Hotdog struggle up even with her. He risked tripping to sneak a look at her face. Her generous features were set in a hard, cold mask, lips pressed together until they flattened and paled, a deep crease between her brows. Hotdog looked back down at where he was placing his leaden feet and his mind leafed back through the day's events.

He'd _told_ Salty and Tammy it was all going to go wrong. He'd frakking _told_ them. Hotdog just hoped Nicky's babysitter was keeping him safely inside. They were nearing the piece of forest Starbuck said Lee had been clearing, and Starbuck slowed her pace, dropping back to a brisk walk. Hotdog followed suit, noticing how pale she was, except for two red patches burning on her cheeks. He'd never seen her so angry before.

"You all right?" He asked, stupidly. Her glare could burn through a ship's hull and Hotdog cringed and dropped his eyes. She sighed and her hand ran lightly over the butt of her gun, like it reassured her or something. Weird.

"I'm fine." Starbuck said eventually, her voice crisp and hard as her face. Hotdog nodded and kept walking next to her, their footsteps crunching on the pine needles and deadwood scattered over the ground.

When Tigh had arrived Starbuck had volunteered to go and arrest Lee on suspicion of conspiracy to murder, and bring him in to Landfall's lock up. The Colonel had refused at first and then reluctantly backtracked as Starbuck had stared him down, Boxey's body lying limply right behind her, fists clenched by her sides. Hotdog had never seen anyone manage to make Tigh back down before. The woman was _scary_. Hotdog had no frakking idea why she wanted to be the one to haul her lover in on charges. He knew that in her place he would refuse the job if it was given to him – he didn't know what the frak was going on in her head right now. He trotted after her quietly, too afraid to say anything in case she bit his godsdamned head off.

She paused at the sound of axes and Hotdog saw her bite her lip, swallow hard.

"I'll take care of this. You just back me up. Got it?" She ordered and Hotdog nodded immediately.

"Sure, Starbuck."

She was frakking cold as hell. Insisting on being the one to bring her partner in? Cold, man. If Hotdog didn't know Starbuck was one of the most honourable people around, he'd think she was going to try and give Lee a chance to escape. Although Tigh didn't seem to think it was likely Lee was involved anyway; to be fair the arrest was more unnecessary official procedure than any indication Lee Adama was going to be judged and executed if the President died.

You could see the sky more, the gigantic trees thinning out as they approached the logging work. Hotdog shaded his eyes as he looked up around him, even the few streaming beams of light bright after a twenty-minute trek through the thick gloom of the forest. There was a yell of,

"Timber!" And the chorus of chopping stilled until there was only one lone axe remaining, thudding as it bit into the wood. Through the thicket of tree trunks Hotdog could see men and women scattering from a central area as he followed in Starbuck's determined wake, and a moment later there was a deafening, thunderous boom as a tree was felled.

"Frak."

"Dangerous work." Starbuck commented, squinting ahead.

"Looks it." Hotdog answered just as casually.

She hadn't even seemed upset when she'd shot Boxey. Killed the kid. And he was only in his early teens. She often come around to the break room the Landfall Patrol ate and gambled in with Boxey in tow, and the kid had tried so hard to fit in with the adults. It had been cute, the casual way in which Starbuck had tried to include Boxey. Of course, he had been coming around less often lately – not at all in the last few weeks.

"There he is." Starbuck was grim and she seemed to be forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other as she neared her lover. Hotdog would have felt sorry for her, but he kept remembering coming around a corner just in time to see Starbuck measuredly plug a second bullet in the swaying kid. Kept remembering how she had kicked Boxey after, the way it had sounded when her boot had connected with the dead kid's abdomen.

Gods, now he felt sick.

"Lee." Starbuck yelled and shook her head, rubbing her eyes angrily with her hand like she was trying not to cry.

Oh gods, there was still blood on her hands.

Hotdog choked down his lunch as it tried to claw its way back up his throat.

"Lee!" He was in a singlet dark with sweat, hefting an axe in one hand, and heard Starbuck's call. Lee looked up and Hotdog saw his face go from happiness to dread in two seconds as the poor bastard read Starbuck's expression.

Frak, this was a mess.

"I'll wait here." Hotdog was happy to chicken out and hang back, and Starbuck spared him only a curt nod.

"Stay alert, Hotdog. Eyes open."

# # #

"Timber!" Davis yelled a pre-emptive warning as Lee finished up the last few strokes of the axe, the wood chipping away cleanly under his steady, careful blows. They made their way through most of the enormous trunks with a two-man saw, but the last necessary severance was always with a hand axe. The tree creaked and screamed and Lee darted back a ways as it began to topple. The tree fell cleanly in the right direction with an explosive crash and Lee grinned to himself, Davis coming up and clapping him on the back.

"Good job." Davis was the most experienced man on the crew at the moment. He'd worked in forestry preservation and management on Virgon and although not a logger was no stranger to the task of felling a tree safely. Usually not stately giants like the one they had just toppled though. It would take a good seven men joining hands to encircle the base of the trunk.

"Thanks." Lee returned the backslapping, shrugging the compliment off modestly.

His arms were screaming frakking murder at him and he could've wrung a cup of sweat out of his shirt, his neck stiff and aching. He weighed the axe in one blistered hand, wishing he could just go home and sleep. After frakking Kara. He smiled, the image catching his fancy and threatening to compromise his dignity. He wondered if maybe he could work the saw for a while – while still hard work it wasn't quite as tough on one's body as the axe. Worked the muscles in a different way, at least, and the change would be welcome relief for his aching body.

Lee was heading to ask to swap with Sarah Omashu when he thought he heard something. He cocked his head to the side and listened above the resumed work, and then the noise came again – his name, called in Starbuck's voice. A grin spread across his face and he felt suddenly lighter, scanning the area and spotting her striding toward him.

He blinked.

Hotdog was behind her, nervous and flushed with his hand on his weapon, hanging back at the edge of the worksite. Lee's eyes were drawn back to Starbuck almost unwilling, the smile melting from his lips. Her face was lit with anger – Lee knew the look well – and her shoulders set, her hand on the butt of her gun, just like Hotdog's. His eyes zeroed in on an anomaly besides her resting her hand on her godsdamned gun. There was dried blood on her readied hand. What… Lee's face went blank as his mind raced over the possibilities, and a split second later he landed on…Romo Lampkin. Oh frak, no. Oh _frak_.

What had they done?

Starbuck reached him and Lee just stared at her mutely, the axe feeling strange dangling from his nerveless hand. He felt numb, suddenly cold. Starbuck gulped and her face flickered with a myriad of emotions tightly contained.

"The President was stabbed a short time ago, by one of your people."

Lee's stomach dropped as she spoke in a monotone, her hand never moving from her holstered weapon. In fact, clutching it tighter, ready to pull it if need be, the wiry muscles in her arm tensed. He thought that was what hurt the most. That she needed the reassurance of her weapon, in case – in case what? He was involved? He was involved and might hurt _her_ – Kara? What did she think he was capable of? He was motionless, frozen to the spot, trying to process what she had said and failing.

Starbuck frowned at him, eyebrows scrunching together.

"Aren't you even going to ask if he's alive?" Her tone finally had feeling to it, and Lee thought he preferred the monotone, Starbuck's voice saturated with disbelieving contempt. Gods. She thought his lack of outward reaction was because he didn't care – or worse, maybe, wasn't surprised. He shook his head, denying it,

"I – Starbuck, I… _Is_ he alive?"

Starbuck's tongue flicked over her top lip and she shrugged, shoulders tight and hunched.

"Last I saw Doc Cottle was carting him off to the hospital. After that…" She shrugged again.

"It doesn't look good though. He took two to the belly and one to the side."

"Frak." Lee realised he was shaking slightly, all over.

"Who was it?" He almost didn't want to know.

Starbuck looked at the ground and her lips thinned out, fingers convulsing around the butt of her gun. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second then forced her gaze to meet Lee's.

"Boxey."

Lee's heart wrenched behind his ribs and his hand clenched around the axe.

"Lee." Starbuck said warningly and he swore, so frakking hurt that she was treating him like he was a criminal, he was involved. Like he was dangerous. But he nodded once and said,

"Sorry." And bent and laid the axe on the ground, raising his hands palm out at waist height, and had the bitter satisfaction of seeing her flinch. At least it seemed like the situation made her just as unhappy as Lee was.

"Where is he?"

Lee needed to talk to Boxey, to find out if anyone else had been involved or if he had done it on his own. The kid might still respect Lee enough to tell him the truth, and if there were others involved – adults – _and_ if Romo Lampkin didn't die, Boxey _might_ get a lighter sentence. He wasn't a bad kid – he deserved a second chance. Lee had spent a lot of time with him since they'd arrived on Earth, and he'd grown sort of attached to the boy. Stubborn, idealistic, determined – Boxey had potential to grow up to be a good and admirable man. Damnit, why did he have to go and ruin his life by doing something like this?

"Who?" Starbuck interrupted his escaping thoughts.

"Boxey, for fraks sake."

Starbuck stared at him, her eyes suddenly desperately sad.

"Lee… Lee, he's dead." She said as if he should have known, her voice surprisingly gentle, for Starbuck.

Lee stared at her, brow furrowed,

"What?" Godsdamnit, the kid was only fifteen. He – had been a good kid. Okay, he'd made a really frakking terrible choice, but despite that he had always been a good kid. Lee blinked and shook his head in slow denial.

"No."

"Yes." Starbuck's voice froze over again and Lee's chin trembled embarrassingly, his eyes filling with tears. Frak it.

"How?" The one word was all he could say without losing it. Starbuck stepped back from him, her eyes skittering away from his.

"I shot him." She said without a hint of apology or guilt in her voice, and Lee was just too godsdamned overwhelmed to react.

"Of course you did." He replied calmly, the afternoon taking on a dreamlike quality as he stared at her.

"I didn't know it was him." She was angry now, her eyes fierce.

"No. Of course you didn't." Lee kept looking at her, glazed; it was one of those moments where he felt as though he'd never seen her before. Like he was seeing her for the first time. She was a stranger. A stranger with kissable lips and long pale silky hair, and a child's blood smearing her hands.

"It all happened so fast. I just saw a body… A knife… The President going down… I reacted. It just… I reacted, Lee." Starbuck's face began to crumple and contort as she stared up into the highest reaches of the trees, as if she could see it all happening again in her head. Lee nodded. He knew – he knew what it was like to react on instinct, he knew how crazy it was when you were in a situation like that. But it didn't make it any easier. He wanted to say he understood, but the words wouldn't come.

"So why are you here?" Back to grim business, grief and horror shoved down.

"I'm here to take you in. I – I know, and everyone else knows too, that you wouldn't have had anything to do with this, but it's procedure. Tigh's orders." Her voice regained some steadiness and strength as she came back to the present.

"Tigh. Huh."

"We – we better go." Starbuck jerked her head over toward where Hotdog still stood, looking slightly less nervous than before.

Lee nodded,

"I'll just go tell the others…"

"Make it quick." Starbuck snapped the words out briskly, her tough shell encasing her again, any hint of the tears she had just almost shed, vanished.

"I _didn't_ know, you know." Lee said, meeting her eyes.

She didn't react in the slightest, simply saying,

"That's not my place to judge, Lee. I'm just here to escort you back to Landfall. That's all."

"I didn't, Kara. I didn't."

"Yeah."

# # #

"Godsdamnit, I asked for a clamp!" Doc Cottle couldn't spare a glare as he barked at Nora, the woman filling the air with the clatter of metal on metal as she fumbled with the tray of instruments. Stupid woman. She found the needed instrument and passed it over, her hands trembling. These conditions couldn't be worse, Cottle fumed to himself, deeply immersed in his default state of intense irritation, at the world and everyone in it. No steriliser – just everything boiled in water for a good five minutes. No anaesthetic – lucky for Romo the Doc had found an alternative a few weeks back. No qualified nurses – Nora was one of the best Doc Cottle had, and she was a bumbling child compared to what he had been used to on the Galactica. If only Ishay would give up the stupid anti-tech movement that created the mess on Cottle's bed in front of him, and come back to work for him.

Cottle's brain ranted and rambled absently as his fingers worked their skilful magic to stem the flow of blood from the President's body, to repair the torn muscles and injured organs. Luckily – gods knew how – the kid had managed to avoid seriously affecting any essential organs. Three stab wounds to the belly and barely a scratch on him, figuratively speaking, of course. All right, Romo Lampkin would leave the hospital a spleen lighter, but nobody really _needed_ one of those anyway. Doc Cottle laughed to himself, a grunting sound that made Nora look up from her hovering by Romo's face with the sponge ready, her large eyes bulging with nervousness.

"Is – is he going to make it?" She asked hesitantly and Doc Cottle looked up at his patient's face, ashen pale and drooling slightly – the ether had knocked him out good. His pulse seemed steady if a little weak, and he was in good healthy shape.

"If he doesn't get an infection, he should be fine."

"Good. Good." Nora sighed with relief and jumped as Romo stirred, head rolling on the bed.

"Sponge." Cottle reminded her with a sigh, and she clamped it back over Romo's nose and mouth for a count of ten. Hah. It certainly wouldn't do to have the President waking up halfway through surgery.

# # #

"I don't want to be the _frakking_ _President_. You don't have to godsdamned worry about that." Tigh snarled the words, his one-eyed glare subduing the frantic, flustered Council members. A bunch of frakking vultures, grabbing madly for any shred of power, and panicking if it looked like it was going to be taken away. He clasped his hands behind his back, waiting silently as they settled around the table and regained their composure.

"So is the President out of surgery? Is he alive?" It was Mr Ababa, his dark skin looking ashy, lined features etched with what appeared to be genuine concern. Well, maybe Tigh was being a bit harsh on the frakkers – they weren't all bad.

"Well he was fresh out of surgery and alive ten minutes ago when I was at the hospital. 'Course he may've died between then and now, but I doubt it." Tigh was flippantly abrasive.

He didn't want to waste his time on this political crap when there were security issues going on. He wanted to be there when Starbuck pulled Lee in. Hah. Starbuck going after Lee – now that had been unexpected. Although, it was the sort of thing Starbuck would do to herself.

"So will you be taking military – well, security, whatever – control while the President is incapable? Because–" Another man piped up; one of the fleet captains, Terence Sheridan. Tigh had never liked him.

"No, I frakking won't. You're the godsdamned Council, civilian issues are you're business." He still hadn't adjusted to the idea of there being no civilian/military divide, and Ellen teased that he never would. Tigh gave up as an uproar erupted again and turned his back on the table of people, striding out of there. They protested of course, but what could they do about it? Tigh didn't answer to them.

He followed the few dirt streets of Landfall to the detention centre – not much used except for the occasional drunk who got violent. Even though the sun was starting to set and the farmers and hunters would have arrived home – and normally be at Joe's bar, noisy and spilling onto the street, or just enjoying the cooler evening air – the settlement was unnaturally quiet. But not empty, of course, and Tigh could feel eyes watching him as he walked. Nosey bastards. Starbuck would have found Lee and brought him back in a good hour ago, by Tigh's reckoning, while Tigh was trapped in the Council room with the wonderful responsibility of reassuring the panicky, demanding Councillors. The younger Adama would have been waiting in the cell all that time – good. Tigh wanted to see him sweat a little. Even if Lee Adama wasn't directly responsible for the attack on the President, he had fuelled the fires that led to it. Tigh didn't plan on making it easy for Lee.

"Starbuck. You found him?"

"He's in the cell." She said flatly and indicated which one with a jerk of her chin, her face sullen and drawn.

"No problems?"

Starbuck curled her lip and gave Tigh a look, and he was reminded once again of why they never got on, her expression telegraphing absolute contempt and incredulity. He just wanted to smack her one. Right in that godsdamned sneering mouth.

"Frakking of _course_ not, Tigh. What, you think he was gonna put up resistance?" She crossed her arms, mouth still set in a sneer,

"We both know he wasn't involved in this. He had no frakking idea what had happened. He's not a frakking criminal. Okay?" She swallowed hard, all wrought up, and Tigh watched her with interest, a faint smile crossing his lips. She was a firecracker when she got lit. Full of fury – not a woman to be crossed.

"Is that all, Starbuck?" He made the words drip with condescending superiority, the eyebrow above his good eye arching. Tigh always got the most delicious feeling of satisfaction out of taunting Starbuck. Perhaps he shouldn't, at a time like this, but frak it – live each day like it's your last. Right? Hah – Tigh snorted with private amusement. Starbuck made a sound of disgust and flapped her hands uselessly at her sides, then hugged her middle defensively.

"Yeah. That's frakking all." She moved to leave, then paused, gave Tigh a searching look as though she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. She wasn't above slamming the door behind her, though.

Tigh grinned. A frakking firecracker all right.

# # #

Greyish ceiling.

Greyish walls.

Cool air wisping over the bed, over his body, contrasting exquisitely with the excruciating pain he was in. Well, if he could still be sarcastic, it couldn't be all that bad. The sounds of talking; what had roused him from his drugged stupor.

"…I don't know what to do…what to feel."

A snatch of a sentence drifted through the wall behind his head, a voice he recognised.

Starbuck.

He listened. It was a way to try and distract himself from the pain – not that he was above eavesdropping anyway. He shut his eyes, listening.

"…All so stupid. He was only a kid. And bam, just like that, it's all over."

She sighed heavily and paused for a long moment, and Romo found himself counting the throbs of pain permeating his body in time with his pulse. Gods it hurt. He was _never_ getting stabbed again.

"And I was the one who took it away from him. Me. I liked him, Sam. He used to follow me around like a puppy for a while there…"

And Romo got distracted wondering if someone had remembered to feed Jake, his drug-dulled mind skimming away from his control. He didn't know how long he meandered through drugged fantasies, but when he wrested his thoughts back to reality Starbuck was still talking.

"…put blame on Lee, but part of me is so angry at him. If he hadn't kept at this godsdamned crusade, would Boxey have been crazy enough to do this? I don't know."

She was quiet again and Romo opened his eyes, counted the bolts along a seam in the ceiling above his head. His abdomen screamed bloody murder at him, his hands fisting in the bed sheets, teeth gritting. Her voice came through the wall, strangely lulling.

"It was hard enough before, to keep things together with Lee. With not knowing what I am, and Lee being this damned _dissident leader_, and you…oh gods. Sam, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be saying this to you. I shouldn't… _Gods_."

Her voice carried such pain and guilt that Romo forgot about his own pain long enough to sympathise with hers; the loneliness and desperation distilled in her words. It didn't last long, the pain came back as he sank back into his body, and Romo wished they had better drugs.

Much, much better drugs.

"I thought when we got to Earth everything would be different. I thought that it would be better. I think we all did. But we were wrong, weren't we, Sam?"

Romo pictured her in his mind's eye, maybe holding Sam Anders hand, looking down into his blank eyes. Searching for something and seeing nothing.

Romo had never pegged Starbuck for an idealist.

When they had arrived on Earth Romo had known from the beginning that it was going to be the same old hard grind of life. Being born and dying and trying to survive in between – life was, by definition, never going to be easy. Especially when you were living life as a small group of unprepared survivors, trying to eke out barely enough to get by on, in a primitive and unfamiliar situation like theirs.

His mind wandered and skittered and was drawn back by Starbuck's voice.

"We all saw what we wanted. What we hoped for. Dreams."

Not real, Romo finished for her, as he was dragged down into oblivion.

# # #

_Author's Note:_

This episode has mostly been about introducing the characters again; getting a glimpse at what's been happening in the ~9 months since they arrived on Earth and what the situation is now, with a bit of excitement thrown in.

The title, _If Wishes Were Fishes_, and the characters' issues throughout the episode, are part of the general theme – the fact that, well, Earth isn't what they thought/hoped/dreamed it would be. Not a magical fix, not a utopia, and not a pure, fresh start. Life just doesn't work that way – and certainly not in the BSG 'verse, where terrible, stark, unfair shit happens all the time.

The show ending just was _not_ realistic, and that really irked me. So, I'm writing down mine (and my husband's – thanks honey!) head-canon.

Well, I hope you've enjoyed it so far, and I hope you keep reading – I've got the season roughly plotted out, and a lot of things are set to happen to all our favourite characters – just remember, this is _BSG_, famed (in my mind anyway) for being brilliantly heartless and harsh with its characters, and I _will_ be trying to stay as true as possible to the spirit of the show.

_Housekeeping Notes_ – Now this episode is complete I'll be moving it to the T Rating, and posting the next episode under T as well, with any M Rated parts pointed out at the top of each chapter. I may also (when I get the time/energy) go through and tidy up the chapters and get rid of all the typos I just _know_ are lurking throughout.

The first part of the next episode, _Is This What You Wanted?_ will go up on my (in New Zealand) Friday, which makes it…Thursday…in the US? I don't know, I'm bloody terrible anything that involves counting and/or figuring time zone shit out.

The focus of events in _Is This What You Wanted? _will revolve around Lee, Starbuck, Caprica and Gaius, but many other characters will make appearances in the episode. It's going to be both a little darker and a little more hopeful than _If Wishes Were Fishes_.

/End ridiculously long Author's Note


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